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LIBRARY 

UNIVWWITYOF 
SAN  DIEGO 


THE     BIOGRAPHY 


OF 


ALFRED     DE     MUSSET. 


(Test  mot  qui  at  vecu,  et  non  pas  un  lire  factke  cree  par  mon 
orgueil  et  mon  entnii" 


m'lb 


The   Biography 


OF 


Alfred   de   Musset. 


2Cran»latelJ  from  tfje  JFrencfj  of  ?3aiil  Be  iKlusgtt 


BY 


HARRIET  W.  PRESTON, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  TROUBADOURS  AND  TROUVKRES,"  ETC.  ;  AND  TRANSLATOR 

OF  mistral's  "mirkio." 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

1877. 


Copyright,  1877, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


Cambridge : 
Press  of  John   Wilson  &'  Son. 


PREFACE, 


'T^HE  memoir  of  Alfred  de  Musset  by  his  de- 
voted  brother  Paul  is,  in  many  respects,  a 
model  of  what  a  biography  ought  not  to  be.  It  is 
an  ardent  and  tearful  defence,  a  eulogy,  a  threnody, 
a  picturesque  and  highly  idealized  sketch :  it  is 
any  thing,  in  short,  but  a  sober  and  truthful  piece 
of  portraiture.  But  who  would  care  to  read  a 
brother's  memorial  of  a  life  so  brief  and  troubled, 
a  nature  so  richly  endowed,  and  in  many  ways  so 
winning,  if  it  were  dispassionate }  The  whole  of 
the  sad  truth  concerning  the  dissipations  which 
wrecked  the  poet's  health,  and  the  waywardness 
and  weakness  which  paralyzed  his  exquisite  talent, 
years  even  before  he  passed  away,  may  be  read 
elsewhere.  In  particular,  the  study  or  series  of 
studies  by  Paul  Lindau,  published  in  Beriin  almost 
simultaneously  with  the  present  memoir,  contains 
a  great  deal  of  sound  criticism,  and  is  quite  re- 
markable for  its  lack  of  reserve  in  details.  But 
the  eager  plea  of  M.  Paul  de  Musset  deceives  as 


vi  Preface. 

little  as  eager  pleas  usually  do.  We  divine  all  that 
he  avoids  saying,  at  the  same  time  that  we  like  him 
the  better  for  his  chivalrous  care  of  his  brother's 
reputation. 

The  task  of  rendering  into  English  his  graphic 
and  simple  narrative  has  been  a  very  pleasant  one  ; 
and,  for  an  explanation  of  its  few  obscure  allu- 
sions to  matters  connected  with  French  literature 
and  politics,  I  am  indebted  to  my  friend,  Mme. 
George  Harney,  of  Cambridge. 

Harriet  W.  Preston. 

York,  September  3,  1877. 


THE    BIOGRAPHY 


ALFRED     DE     MUSSET. 


T  HAVE  long  cherished  the  purpose  of  giving  to 
-■-  the  admirers  of  Alfred  de  Musset  the  story  of  his 
life.  I  have  often  felt  moved  to  begin  the  task,  but 
have  been  withheld  by  the  very  vividness  of  my  recol- 
lections. And  yet  it  is  no  mere  duty  which  I  propose 
to  fulfil  toward  the  man  whom,  of  all  men,  I  have  best 
loved,  and  whose  most  loyal  friend  and  recipient  of 
confidence  I  have  ever  been.  I  regard  it  rather  as  a 
complement  needful  to  the  perfect  understanding  of 
his  work.  For  his  work  is  himself ;  and  in  it  we  per- 
ceive that  daily  transmutation  of  genius  which  belongs 
only  to  those  privileged  poets  in  whom  the  imagination 
is  in  constant  communion  with  the  heart.  The  creations 
of  these  rare  minds,  their  merest  fancies,  do  not  usually 
wear  the  aspect  of  fiction  for  the  reason  that  they  reveal 
the  very  workings  of  the  poet's  soul.  Their  history 
becomes  the  history  of  the  human  heart,  and  nothing 
can  be  uninteresting  which  makes  them  better  known. 
This  it  is  which  renders  the  curiosity  of  the  public,  about 
the  incidents  of  their  lives,  legitimate  and  intelligent. 


2  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Not  only  did  Alfred  de  Musset  receive  the  gift  of 
keen  feeling  and  forceful  expression,  but  the  sentiments 
and  the  thoughts  to  which  he  gave  so  fair  a  form  were 
those  of  a  whole  generation.  I  know  not  if  any  other 
poet  could  be  cited  as  being  the  poet  of  his  era  so 
thoroughly  as  was  he.  The  first  readers  of  "  Rolla  "  and 
the  "Nuit  de  Mai"  may  possibly  have  seen  therein  only 
a  philosophic  thesis';  the  doubts  of  an  unquiet  mind, 
the  plaints  of  an  unhappy  lover;  but  ultimately  men 
recognized,  even  there,  the  truthful  expression  of  uni- 
versal feelings.  What  the  poet  suffered,  he  suffered  in 
common  with  all  his  contemporaries ;  and  this  is  why 
his  works  were  read  in  attics  as  well  as  in  castles,  and 
why  his  verses  charmed  the  tedium  of  the  bivouac  on 
the  remote  frontiers  of  Kalybia. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  the  poetry  of  sentiment 
makes  the  envied  possessor  of  this  form  of  expression 
unhappy.  Sensitive  souls  are  sent  into  the  world  to 
be  crowded  and  crushed.  The  loss  of  a  mistress,  the 
defection  of  a  friend,  a  disappointed  hope,  an  illusion 
dispelled,  —  all  the  ills,  great  and  small,  of  which  life  is 
made  up,  —  exasperate  them,  and  would  drive  them  to 
desire  death  if  they  could  not  find  a  solace  for  their 
woes  in  the  poet's  inspiration.  So  that  those  who 
afford  us  our  highest  intellectual  pleasures  and  our 
sweetest  consolations  appear  doomed  to  weariness  and 
melancholy,  even  when  they  are  not  actually  molested 
and  tormented,  as  too"  often  happens ;  and  if  their  best 
friends  sometimes  irritate  them  unintentionally,  how 
many  others  wound  them  on  purpose,  well  knowing 
that  a  pin-prick  will  make  them  bleed.     The  biography 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  3 

which  follows  will  not  merely  furnish  an  additional 
proof  of  these  undeniable  truths :  it  will  help  to  estab- 
lish another  not  quite  so  hackneyed  ;  namely,  that  sor- 
row makes  great  poets,  as  Alfred  de  Musset  himself  has 
said  in  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai." 

Is  it  not  plain  that  we  owe  the  finest  passages  in  the 
"  Divine  Comedy  "  to  the  bitterness  of  the  exile,  and  to 
Dante's  resentment  against  the  injustice  of  his  fellow- 
citizens  ?  The  "  Misanthrope  "  of  Moliere  might  never 
have  seen  the  light  if  Armande  Bejart  had  been  a  vir- 
tuous and  faithful  wife.  Happy  is  the  poet  who,  like 
Petrarch,  finds  an  inexhaustible  source  of  sorrow  and 
sensibility  in  the  virtue  of  a  gentle  and  compassionate 


woman 


Like  his  predecessors,  Alfred  de  Musset  drew  from 
love  and  from  grief  his  finest  inspiration.  A  secret 
instinct  forewarned  him  of  those  dangerous  fellow- 
beings  who  were  destined  to  put  his  affections  to  their 
hardest  tests.  But  he  had  no  need  to  go  in  search  of 
suffering.  Rather,  it  sought  him  out  so  often  that  his 
sensibilities  were  never  allowed  ta  sleep.  Every  one 
seemed  to  contribute  something  to  the  sum  of  his  sor- 
rows ;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  evil  and  invidious  defeat 
their  own  end  by  rendering  the  poet's  renown  yet  cost- 
lier, and  more  difficult  for  him  to  obtain. 

If  Alfred  de  Musset  had  been  born  in  the  age  of 
Louis  XIV.,  he  would,  of  course,  have  belonged  to  the 
court,  and  shared  the  intimacy  of  the  king.  He  would 
have  enjoyed  the  privileges  then  reserved  for  nobility 
and  genius ;  he  would  have  held  some  important  charge 
and  been  admitted  everywhere,  like  Racine.     Nor  would 


4  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussei. 

he  have  been  indifferent  to  this  kind  of  distinction. 
Independent  as  his  character  was,  he  would  have 
yielded  to  the  requirements  of  etiquette ;  he  would 
have  taken  an  active  part  in  the  refined  enjoyments 
of  the  only  sovereign  who  ever  understood  the  great 
art  of  grouping  all  manner  of  talents  about  himself, 
and  absorbing  them  for  the  augmentation  of  his  own 
glory.  He  was  essentially  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
he  might  have  been  a  genuine  grand  seigneur.  The 
friendship  of  the  Prince  of  Conde,  the  company  of 
Moliere  and  Despreaux,  would  have  charmed  him  more 
than  formal  honors.  He  would  have  had  a  far  happier 
life;  but  would  he  have  been  a  greater  man  today? 
Would  he  have  made,  in  an  age  when  life  would  have 
been  so  easy  to  him,  the  same  deep  impression  which 
he  has  left  upon  our  own  ?  I  think  not.  His  weariness 
and  disgust  in  the  midst  of  a  society  which  is  growing 
ever)'  day  more  material  have  caused  to  vibrate  in  him 
the  more  hidden  strings.  For  every  wound  which  he 
has  received,  he  has  mounted  higher.  His  renown  has 
been  only  the  more  solid  and  brilliant  for  being  slowly 
won,  and  an  early  death  has  but  added  to  his  fame. 
That  sad  consecration  was  not  needed.  He  had  had 
time  enough. 

The  De  Musset  family,  which  originated  in  the  Duchy 
of  Bar,  established  itself  at  Blois  and  Vendome,  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  about  the  time  of  the  siege  of  Orleans. 
The  first  gentleman  of  that  name  mentioned  in  the 
"Gallia  Christiana"  is  a  certain  Rudolphe  de  Musset, 
present  as  a  witness  at  the  ceremony  of  founding  an 
abbey  in  the  diocese  of  Paris,  in  1140.     I  have  else- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  5 

where  spoken  of  Colin  de  Musset,  a  celebrated  poet  and 
musician  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  contemporary 
and  friend  of  Thibaut,  Count  of  Champagne.-^ 

Other  De  Mussets  are  to  be  found  in  the  council  of 
Louis,  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  brother  of  Charles  VI. ;  in 
that  of  Dunois,  bastard  of  Orleans ;  fighting  in  the  army 
of  Charles  VII.  at  the  battle  of  Pathay  ;  and  in  the 
household  of  the  Princess  of  Clbves,  the  mother  of 
Louis  XII.  Several  of  them  were  lords-lieutenant  of 
the  province  of  Blois.  Two  of  them  commanded  the 
companies  of  arquebusiers,  and  certain  free  companies 
of  fifty  men  under  Henry  III.  Francois  de  Musset  was 
killed  at  Philipsbourg,  in  attempting  to  quell  a  revolt  of 
the  German  troops  in  the  garrison.  The  most  cele- 
brated soldier  in  the  family  was  Alexander  de  Musset,  a 
chevalier  of  Saint  Louis,  and  lieutenant  of  the  king  at  La 
Rochelle,  who  distinguished  himself  in  all  the  battles  of 
the  war  of  the  Succession,  and  became  the  comrade 
in  arms  of  Maurice  of  Saxony.  He  received  several 
wounds,  and  only  retired  after  sixty  years  of  active 
service. 

Minister  d'Argenson,  and  the  Marshals  of  Saxony, 
Lowendal,  Belle-Isle,  and  d'Estrdes  wrote  him  flattering 
letters,  which  his  heirs  have  carefully  preserved. 

Certain  interesting  alliances  of  the  De  Musset  family 
are  also  to  be  noted.  An  indirect  one  with  Joan  of  Arc, 
through  her  niece,  Catherine  du  Lys,  whose  marriage 
Charles  VII.  desired  to  arrange,  and  to  whom  he  gave 
a  dowry ;  others  with  the  Bombelles,  the  Du  Tillets,  the 

1  See  a  brief  notice  of  the  life  of  Alfred  de  Musset,  in  the  large  quarto 
edition  of  the  poet's  complete  works  published  in  1866. 


6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Du  Bellays.  The  paternal  grandmother  of  Alfred  de 
Musset,  Margaret  Angelique  du  Bellay,  the  last  female 
child  of  that  name,  belonged  to  a  family  which  prized 
literary  no  less  than  military  distinction.  She  married 
her  second  son,  Joseph  Alexander  de  Musset,  to  Jeanne 
Catherine  d'Harville,  an  extremely  clever  woman.  Vic- 
tor de  Musset,  the  father  of  Alfred,  was  the  offspring  of 
this  marriage. 

According  to  the  peerage  of  France,  the  arms  of  this 
family  are  a  golden  hawk,  hooded  and  jessed  upon  an 
azure  field  perched  on  a  bar  gules,  with  the  device, 
"  Courtoisie,  Bonne-aventure  aux  preux."  La  Courtoisie 
and  Bonne-aventure  were  two  patrimonial  estates :  the 
first  remained  in  the  family  until  the  middle  of  the  last 
century;  the  second,  which  formed  a  part  of  the  pat- 
rimony of  Alfred  de  Musset,  was  occupied  by  Antoine 
de  Bourbon,  the  father  of  Henry  IV.,  during  the  sojourn 
of  the  French  court  at  the  chateaux  of  Amboise  and  Blois. 
It  lies  two  leagues  from  Vendome,  at  the  confluence  of 
the  Loir  and  a  lesser  river,  at  a  place  called  Gue-du- 
Loir.  It  is  well  known  that  Antoine  de  Bourbon's  was 
no  edifying  career.  He  frequently  sought  relief  from 
the  tedium  of  a  life  of  show  by  retiring  from  the  court  to 
Bonne-aventure,  where  he  gave  shelter  to  certain  dam- 
sels rather  less  virtuous  than  Queen  Catherine's  maids- 
of-honor.  The  secret  of  these  pleasure  parties  was  ill 
kept ;  and  the  fame  of  them  reached  the  ears  of  the  poet 
Rousard,  who  chanced  to  be  at  Poissoniere,  not  far  from 
Vendome.  Rousard  composed  a  song  on  the  frolics  of 
the  king,  the  refrain  of  which  was,  "La  bonne  aventure 
au  gue,  la  bonne  aventure!"     This  satirical  lyric  went 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  7 

from  one  end  of  France  to  the  other,  and  nurses  sing 
the  air  of  it  to  this  day.-^ 

The  foregoing  details  are  addressed  to  persons  who 
are  curious  in  matters  of  genealogy  and  heraldry.  Here 
are  a  few  for  those  who  interest  themselves  in  the  mys- 
terious laws  of  hereditary  transmission.  It  is  only  by 
an  extraordinary  concurrence  of  circumstances  that  Na- 
ture succeeds  in  producing  a  man  of  genius.  Savants 
affirm  that  a  single  case  of  high  intelligence  will  retard 
by  three  generations  the  progress  of  idiocy  in  a  feeble- 
minded family.  Apparently,  the  introduction  of  one 
inferior  woman  into  an  intellectual  family  is  quite 
enough  to  debase  the  mental  faculties  of  three  genera- 
tions :  these  facts  are  not  sufficiently  heeded  in  mar- 
riage. The  maternal  grandfather  of  Alfred  de  Musset 
used  to  relate  that  he  said  to  himself,  after  his  third 
interview  with  the  lady  whom  he  afterwards  married, 
"  There  is  the  woman  whom  I  need,'^  and  that  a  month 
before  the  marriage  he  knew  nothing  of  the  fortune  of 
her  parents,  nor  what  dowry  she  would  receive.  But 
this  same  grandfather  was  an  original  character;  a 
person  of  antique  simplicity,  a  charming  spirit,  and  a 
poet  besides. 

Claude  Antoine  Guyot-Desherbiers  was  of  an  old 
family  in  Champagne,  and  came  to  Paris  to  study  law, 
under  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.     He  was  admitted  to^the 

'  In  the  collections  of  popular  songs,  this  familiar  refrain  is  variously 
given.  To  insure  correct  spelling  we  must  go  back  to  Rousard,  and  re- 
member that  Bonne-aventure  was  situated  on  the  Gu6-du-Loir.  The  song 
quoted  by  Alceste  in  the  first  act  of  the  "  Misanthrope  "  is  evidently  derived 
from  this  of  Rousard's ;  but  the  refrain,  ^^J^aime  mieux  tna  ttiie  augue,"  is 
perfect  nonsense. 


8  Biography  ef.  Alfred  de  Musset. 

bar,  and  afterwards  made  a  magistrate.  During  the 
excitement  which  preceded  the  Revolution,  he  became 
the  friend  of  the  Abbd  Morellet,  of  M.  Suard,  of  the 
savant  Cabanis,  the  astronomer  Lalande,  Merlin  de 
Douai,  De  Barras,  and  others,  into  whose  hands  it  was 
destined  that  power  should  presently  fall.  The  tenth  of 
August  having  abolished  his  seat  on  the  bench,  Guyot- 
Desherbiers  lived  in  retirement  till  the  end  of  the  Revo- 
lution. After  the  9th  of  Thermidor,  he  was  appointed 
president  of  the  committee  on  civil  legislation.  In  this 
position  he  exerted  his  influence  to  save  some  heads 
from  the  scaffold;  among  others,  that  of  the  Baron  de 
Batz,  who  had  tried  to  effect  the  escape  of  the  queen 
and  her"  children  from  their  prison  in  the  Temple.  He 
even  ran  the  risk  of  keeping  M.  de  Batz  hidden  in 
his  own  house  during  the  pursuit  of  the  revolutionary 
tribunal. 

M.  Guyot-Desherbiers  was  endowed  with  a  prodigious 
memory.  At  an  advanced  age,  he  amused  himself  by 
reciting  whole  comedies,  playing  all  the  parts  with  a 
degree  of  talent  and  spirit  which  delighted  his  audience, 
his  grandchildren  especially.  I  have  heard  that  the  excel- 
lent Carmontelle,  several  of  whose  proverbs  he  knew  by 
heart,  took  especial  pleasure  in  hearing  him  recite  them  ; 
and  that  this  performance  revealed  to  the  author  himself 
gleams  of  wit  and  shades  of  meaning  of  which  he 
would  not  otherwise  have  dreamed. 

Our  grandfather's  feeling  for  poetry  was  somewhat 
capriciously  manifested ;  but  that  which  especially  dis- 
tinguished M.  Guyot-Desherbiers  was  a  Gallic  gayety, 
and  a  picturesque  way  of  saying  things,  which  imparted. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  9 

a  peculiar  charm  to  his  conversation.  This  original 
turn  of  mind  reappears  in  the  comedies  of  his  grandson, 
especially  in  the  characters  of  Fantasio  and  Valentin 
and  of  Octave  in  the  "  Caprices  de  Marianne." 

From  the  maternal  side,  also,  Alfred  de  Musset  derived 
qualities  no  less  remarkable.  M.  Desherbiers  had  mar- 
ried Marie  Anne  Daret,  a  person  of  rare  merit  and 
excellent  judgment,  —  a  woman  who  gave  good  counsel, 
as  her  husband  was  fond  of  saying.  Habitually 
grave  and  equable,  our  grandmother  was  at  heart  affec- 
tionate, tender,  and  impassioned ;  and,  in  moments  of 
emotion,  her  eloquence  carried  one  away.  Her  tall 
figure,  the  dignity  of  her  countenance,  the  penetrating 
tones  of  her  voice,  and  the  unspeakable  goodness  of  her 
heart  have  left  a  deep  impression  upon  the  minds  of  her 
grandchildren,  —  the  memory  of  a  kind  of  angelic  creat- 
ure. Her  eldest  daughter,  who  was  very  like  her,  trans- 
mitted to  Alfred  de  Musset  sensibility,  eloquence,  and 
pathos.  It  is  through  their  union  with  distinguished 
faculties  on  the  father's  side,  that  these  happy  gifts  have 
been  enhanced  to  the  utmost  in  the  case  of  a  single 
person. 

Victor  Donatien  de  Musset  took  a  good  rank  in  the 
military  college  at  Vendome,  where  he  was  a  royal  pupil. 
When  he  left  school  at  eighteen,  he  had  an  elder  brother 
already  captain  in  a  regiment  at  Bresse,  and  a  sister  who 
was  queen's  pensioner  at  Saint-Cyr  with  the  promise  of 
being  made  a  canoness.  On  his  return  to  his  father's 
house,  he  found  there  a  numerous  and  agreeable  circle 
of  relatives,  friends,  and  neighbors.  The  eldest  of  the 
family  was  living  at  Cogners,  near  Saint-Calais.     Other 


10  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

relatives  and  intimate  friends  dwelt  at  Tours,  at  Blois, 
and  at  Chartres.  Vendome  was  the  centre  where  they 
often  assembled.  For  the  sake  of  spending  a  few  days 
together,  they  would  traverse  abominable  roads  ;  but  the 
cheer  was  good,  and  the  time  passed  gaily.  The  entire 
circle  was  occupied  with  plans  for  making  life  as  pleasant 
as  possible,  without  a  suspicion  that  they  were  on  the 
very  verge  of  a  political  cataclysm.  The  father  of  Victor 
de  Musset  —  called  M.  de  Pathay  in  the  province,  to 
distinguish  him  from  his  two  brothers  —  was  so  entirely 
preoccupied  with  the  fortunes  of  the  son  who  was  a 
captain,  that  he  made  up  his  mind  one  day  that  his 
second  son  must  not  marry.  Submissive  to  the  fate  of 
a  cadet,  Victor  Donatien  had  resigned  himself  to  the 
Church,  when  the  Revolution  arrived  and  snatched  off 
those  clerical  bands  of  which  he  was  so  ready  to  be  rid ; 
whence  it  is  fair  to  conclude  that  the  events  of  1789 
gave  to  France  one  great  poet  who  else  would  never 
have  seen  the  light. 

About  the  same  time  that  his  future  father-in-law  saved 
the  life  of  Baron  de  Batz,  Victor  de  Musset  met  on  the 
highway  of  Tours  a  condemned  nobleman  who  was 
being  escorted  to  Paris  and  the  scaffold.  The  sight  of 
this  unfortunate  man  moved  him  to  the  deepest  pity. 
He  brought  up  a  hay-cart  under  the  windows  of  an  inn 
where  the  gendarmes  had  stopped,  deposited  the  prisoner 
in  it,  drove  off  with  him  by  cross-roads  with  which  he 
was  familiar,  and  eluded  pursuit.  His  prowess  would 
have  cost  him  dear,  had  not  General  Marescot  taken  a 
fancy  to  the  youth,  given  him  shelter  under  the  folds  of 
the  flag,  and  received  him  into  his  own  service.     Em- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  1 1 

ployed  at  first  in  the  inspection  of  fortified  places, 
Victor  de  Musset  made  the  second  Italian  Campaign 
with  the  general,  and  on  his  return  from  Marengo  was 
appointed  chief  inspector  of  engineers.  His  elder 
brother,  following  a  star  very  unlike  his  own,  had  emi- 
grated and  fallen  by  a  republican  bullet  in  the  ranks 
of  Condd's  army.  During  this  interval,  also,  his  parents 
had  both  died,  only  a  few  months  apart.  To  repair 
these  cruel  bereavements  he  had  recourse  to  marriage. 
One  of  his  friends  introduced  him  at  the  house  of  M. 
Desherbiers,  whose  eldest  daughter  he  sought  in  mar- 
riage, and  was  readily  accepted. 

Victor  de  Musset  remained  in  the  War  Department 
until  1811,  when  he  was  made  head  of  a  division  {chef 
de  bureau)  in  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior.  Superseded 
in  18 18  by  M.  Lain6  for  the  expression  of  liberal  opin- 
ions, he  took  an  active  literary  part  in  the  Restoration 
movement.  In  182 1,  he  published  an  excellent  edition 
of  the  works  of  J.  J.  Rousseau,  and  shortly  afterwards  a 
careful  and  valuable  work  on  the  life  and  writings  of  the 
Genevan  philosopher,  M.  de  Semonville,  who  chanced  to 
meet  and  become  attached  to  him,  and  caused  him  to  be 
appointed  librarian  of  the  Chamber  of  Peers.  In  1828, 
when  General  de  Caux  joined  the  political  coalition  which 
goes  by  the  name  of  M.  de  Martignac,  Victor  de  Musset 
was  called  to  the  War  Department,  in  the  capacity  of 
chief  clerk  {chef  du  cabinet  du  ministre),  whence  he 
passed  to  the  department  of  Military  Justice,  in  which 
he  remained  until  his  death. 

During  his  long  administrative  career,  Victor  de 
Musset  was  fortunate  in  being  able  constantly  to  exer- 


12  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

cise  the  distinctive  qualities  of  his  disposition  \  namely, 
an  inexhaustible  kindness  and  serviceableness.  Never 
did  a  man  in  power  take  so  much  trouble  in  the  service 
of  others  ;  display  such  constant  activity,  energy,  and 
courage  in  assisting  and  protecting  the  unfortunate  and 
the  persecuted.  It  may  well  be  supposed  that  occa- 
sions were  not  lacking.     I  will  cite  but  two. 

Near  the  close  of  the  Empire,  an  emigre  named 
D'Hotland  returned  to  France,  burdened  with  a  numer- 
ous family,  and  stripped  of  all  his  resources.  He  asked 
employment  and  bread  for  his  children  of  M.  de  Musset, 
who  appointed  him  inspector  of  the  central  police-station 
at  Melun.  Almost  as  soon  as  he  was  installed  in  office, 
he  was  denounced  to  the  Emperor  as  an  old  royalist, 
and  from  the  higher  realms  of  government  came  the 
order  for  his  instant  removal.  The  minister  summoned 
the  head  of  the  bureau,  who  undertook  an  energetic 
defence  of  his  creature,  in  which  he  offered  himself  as 
surety  for  the  persons  whom  he  employed,  claiming  that 
he  had  the  free  choice  of  his  subalterns,  and  was 
responsible  for  them.  At  the  end  of  a  month  a  new 
complaint  was  lodged,  and  there  was  a  fresh  order  for 
immediate  removal,  this  time  in  terms  so  peremptory 
that  the  minister  was  terrified.  But  M.  de  Musset  re- 
fused to  be  intimidated.  At  the  risk  of  his  own  removal, 
he  addressed  to  the  Emperor  a  second  communication, 
yet  firmer  than  the  first,  in  which  he  denounced  with 
indignation  the  scheme  of  the  informers.  It  was  not 
without  hesitation  that  the  minister  M.  de  Montalivet 
included  this  paper  in  his  portfolio ;  but  it  came  back 
the  next  day  with  this  postscript  in   Napoleon's   own 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  13 

hand,  —  "  The  chief  of  the  bureau  is  right,"  and  the  poor 
official  kept  his  place. 

The  other  affair  was  more  important  than  the  pre- 
ceding, and  created  some  excitement.  One  Fabry — an 
overseer  or  commissary  of  troops,  I  do  not  know  which 
—  was  accused  of  embezzlement,  tried  before  a  court- 
martial,  condemned  to  the  galleys,  and  there  died. 
Fifteen  years  afterwards,  the  proofs  of  his  innocence 
were  discovered.  As  the  heirs  of  Lesurques,  his  wife 
and  children  demanded  his  rehabilitation,  which  could 
not  however  be  effected  without  the  passage  of  a  law  in 
both  Chambers.  This  was  in  183 1,  and  it  was  fortunate 
for  Mme.  Fabry  that  she  found  M.  de  Musset  in  the 
department  of  military  justice.  She  made  him  enter 
into  her  feelings  and  share  them  for  a  year.  The  minis- 
ter of  war  positively  shrieked  when  the  chief  of  the  bu- 
reau proposed  to  award  her  an  indemnity  of  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  ;  but,  after  repeated  discussions,  they 
kept  to  that  figure  and  proposed  the  law.  The  statement 
of  the  case  was  a  piece  of  genuine  eloquence  ;  and  the 
day  on  which  Mme.  Fabry  gained  her  cause  before  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies  was  a  holiday  at  home.  This 
obligmgness,  carried  even  to  the  point  of  self-sacrifice, 
was  once  a  peculiarly  French  quality,  but  is  now  no 
longer  in  vogue.  It  has  been  replaced  by  the  American 
precept,  "  Time  is  money ; "  and,  ever  since  men  began 
to  fancy  that  time  can  be  estimated  in  cash,  they  have 
ceased  to  spend  it  in  the  service  of  others. 

To  such  qualities  of  heart  Victor  de  Musset  united 
those  graces  of  the  mind  which  go  to  make  up  what  we 
call  an  amiable  man, —  a  sparkling  gayety,  an  astonishing 


14  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

promptitude  of  repartee,  and  profound  learning  of  which 
he  made  no  parade.  He  would  tell  a  story  in  a  few 
words,  and  with  a  bonhomie  which  concealed  great  art. 
At  table,  among  his  intimate  friends,  when  enlivened  by 
wine  and  good  cheer,  his  gayety  would  fly  to  his  head, 
and  a  running  fire  of  jests  and  droll  sallies  ensued ; 
but  on  these  festive  occasions,  as  on  graver  ones,  the  mo- 
ment he  perceived  a  trace  of  unfriendliness,  his  tongue 
became  sharper,  his  eye  flashed  fire,  his  retort  was 
biting,  and  he  straightway  became  calm.  And,  as  he 
never  came  out  of  such  a  skirmish  otherwise  than  vic- 
torious, he  became  the  terror  of  the  snappish  and 
surly. 

On  one  of  his  visits  to  Vendome,  he  took  my  brother 
and  myself  to  see  a  country  gentleman  in  the  neighbor- 
hood when  the  mercury  stood  at  twenty-five  degrees.^ 

Our  neighbor  was  penurious,  and,  in  place  of  the 
refreshments  which  are  invariably  offered  in  the  prov- 
inces to  every  visitor,  he  exhibited  two  ancient  stone 
statues  recently  disinterred. 

"  You  are  one  of  the  learned,"  said  our  host  mock- 
ingly, "  and  will  doubtless  recognize  at  once  the  two 
saints  whose  images  these  are." 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  M.  de  Musset.  "  One  is  evidently 
Saint  Niggard  and  the  other  Saint  Glutton  ;"  and,  relieved 
by  the  delivery  of  this  scratch,  he  smiled  affably  upon 
his  neighbor.  Victor  de  Musset  wrote  one  comedy  in 
verse,  which  was  not  found  among  his  papers. 

*  Celsius ;  that  is,  about  78°  Falirenlieit. 


PART     FIRST. 

From  i8io  to  1828. 


I. 


A  LFRED  DE  MUSSET  was  born  on  the  eleventh 
-^^*-  of  December,  1810,  in  the  heart  of  old  Paris, 
near  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  in  a  house  which  still  bears  the 
number,  —  33  Rue  des  Noyers.-^  At  thirty-seven  in  tlie 
same  street  lived  our  Grandfather  Desherbiers,  and  a 
great-aunt,  the  proprietress  of  a  garden  which  extended  to 
the  base  of  the  ancient  church  of  Saint  Jean  de  Latran, 
now  demolished.  All  the  great-nephews  of  Mme.  Denoux 
took  their  first  steps  in  this  garden.  Alfred  de  Musset 
used  to  sa)',  jestingly,  that  in  his  childhood  he  was  just 
as  stupid  as  another;  but  I  do  not  hesitate  to  assert 
that  he  gave  early  evidence  of  a  rarely  precocious  intelli- 
gence. After  he  had  been  to  church  for  the  first  time, 
he  asked  his  mother,  as  innocently  as  possible,  whether 
she  would  take  him  again  next  Sunday  to  see  the  comedy 
of  the  Mass ;  nor  had  he  any  suspicion  of  the  Voltairean 
character  of  his  remark.  If  half  the  noteworthy  things 
which  children  say  are  attributable  to  ignorance,  there 
are  others  to  which  we  give  little  heed,  but  which  reveal, 
amid  the  simplicity  of  the  child,  the  character  of  the 
future  man.  Here  is  one.  When  Alfred  was  three 
years  old,  some  one  gave  him  a  pair  of  red  shoes,  which 

1  This  street,  partially  destroyed  by  the  recent  embellishments  of  Paris, 
is  no  longer  to  be  recognized.  One  may  get  an  idea  of  what  it  was  from 
other  streets  in  the  same  quarter,  as  yet  untouched  by  the  hammer,  —  the 
Rue  Galande,  for  example. 


1 8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

he  admired  exceedingly.  He  was  being  dressed,  and 
was  in  a  great  hurry  to  go  forth  in  the  new  foot-gear 
whose  color  took  his  eye.  He  quivered  with  impatience 
while  his  mother  combed  his  long  curls,  and  at  last  cried 
out  in  a  tearful  voice,  "Oh,  make  haste,  mamma,  or 
my  new  shoes  will  be  old  !  " 

We  can  but  laugh  at  this  vivacity,  but  it  was  the  first 
symptom  of  an  impatience  for  pleasure,  a  disposition  to 
devour  the  time,  which  was  never  calmed  nor  contradicted 
for  a  single  day.  Here  is  another  in  which  the  child 
plainly  knows  what  he  is  talking  about.  He  had  com- 
mitted some  peccadillo  or  other;  and  his  young  Aunt 
Nanine,  of  whom  he  was  especially  fond,  told  him  that, 
if  he  did  so  again,  she  should  not  love  him  any  more. 

*'  You  think  so,"  he  replied ;  "  but  you  can't  help  it ! " 

"  Indeed  I  can,  sir,"  was  the  aunt's  reply ;  and,  to  give 
greater  effect  to  her  menace,  she  assumed  as  stern  an 
air  as  possible.  The  child  scanned  her  face  carefully 
and  a  little  uneasily,  for  a  few  minutes,  until  he  detected 
an  involuntary  smile,  when  he  cried  out,  "  But  I  can  see 
that  you  love  me  !  " 

Some  other  misdemeanor,  graver  apparently  than  the 
last,  had  led  one  day  to  his  being  shut  up  in  the  dark 
closet.  When  I  was  of  his  age,  if  a  like  misfortune  over- 
took me,  I  never  budged  an  inch,  but  endured  my  im- 
prisonment in  a  transport  of  pride.  He,  however,  the 
moment  he  was  shut  up,  began  to  bemoan  himself  as  if 
he  had  been  in  carcere  dura. 

"  Oh,  how  miserable  I  am  ! "  he  cried.  "  How  can  I 
have  deserved  to  be  punished  by  so  good  and  loving  a 
mamma  ?    I  must  be  dreadfully  naughty  if  she  is  angry 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  19 

with  me  !  How  can  I  make  her  forgive  me  ?  What  a 
wicked  child  I  am !     It  is  God  who  is  punishing  me." 

He  went  on  for  a  long  while  in  the  same  pathetic 
strain.  Finally,  his  mother,  touched  by  so  deep  a  re- 
pentance, went  and  opened  the  door;  whereupon  the 
prisoner,  who  had  never  dreamed  of  such  success,  cut 
short  his  lamentations,  and  remarked  in  an  indignant 
and  reproachful  tone,  "  Pooh !  you  are  not  very  piti- 
ful !  "  (attendrissante.) 

Among  the  recollections  of  childhood,  this  word  re- 
mained as  a  memorable  thing,  and  Alfred  himself  liked 
often  to  quote  it.  He  liked  better  still  to  recall  another 
remark,  equally  childish,  but  foretelling,  to  one  disposed 
to  heed  the  indication,  the  man  of  imagination.  In  one 
of  the  chambers  of  our  old  house  there  was  an  immense 
beam  in  the  ceiling,  which  the  baby  regarded  with  a  sort 
of  terror.  One  day  his  Aunt  Nanine  wished  to  take 
away  from  him  a  very  young  kitten  which  he  was  hold- 
ing by  the  head,  to  the  great  displeasure  of  the  animal. 
After  clinging  long  to  the  little  beast,  he  saw  that  he 
should  be  forcibly  deprived  of  it,  and  gave  it  up ;  exclaim- 
ing furiously,  however,  in  the  style  of  Camille's  male- 
diction, "  There  !  Take  your  cat !  It  will  scratch  you  ; 
it  will  tear  your  gown ;  and  the  beam  will  fall  on  your 
head ;  and  I  shall  go  and  dine  at  Bagneux." 

At  Bagneux,  in  the  summer-time,  the  whole  family 
used  to  meet  every  Sunday  at  the  house  of  our  great-aunt 
Denoux,  —  a  beautiful  country  seat,  where  the  children 
enjoyed  themselves  exceedingly.  Mme.  Denoux  was 
greatly  flattered  when  she  learned  that  the  utmost  con- 
ceivable happiness  to  her  small  nephew  was  going  to 


20  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

dine  with  her.  Many  and  many  a  time  since  then,  when 
I  have  wanted  to  interfere  and  remonstrate  with  him, 
Alfred  has  answered,  "Yes,  and  the  beam  will  fall  on 
my  head,  and  you  will  go  and  dine  at  Bagneux ! " 

I  am  guilty  of  no  wanton  exaggeration,  when  I  say 
that  his  first  love  dates  from  the  year  1814 ;  and  this 
love  was  none  the  less  intense  for  being  juvenile, 
although  it  had  subsided  into  friendship  before  the  days 
of  genuine  amours.  Alfred  was  less  than  four  years  old 
when  he  beheld  enter  his  mother's  house  one  day  a  young 
lady,  to  him  unknown.  She  was  from  Liege,  which  had 
then  ceased  to  belong  to  France,  and  she  rehearsed  the 
story  of  the  invasion,  the  counter-strokes  of  which  they 
felt  at  Lidge,  where  her  father  was  an  imperial  magis- 
trate. The  tale  was  a  moving  one,  and  the  narrator 
expressed  herself  with  singular  grace.  The  baby  was 
smitten.  From  the  sofa  where  he  sat  surrounded  by  his 
playthings,  he  heard  her  to  the  end  without  a  word, 
when  he  rose  and  requested  to  know  the  name  of  the 
young  lady. 

"  It  is  one  of  your  cousins,"  they  told  him.  "  Her 
name  is  Clelia." 

"  Ah,  she  belongs  to  me  ! "  he  cried :  "  then  I  will 
take  her  and  keep  her  !  " 

He  seized  her  in  fact,  and  made  her  tell  him,  not  only 
the  story  of  the  invasion  and  the  return  to  France,  but  a 
hundred  other  tales  which  she  invented  to  please  him, 
with  the  most  captivating  facility.  He  could  not  exist 
without  his  cousin  Clelia.  The  instant  she  arrived,  he 
drew  her  away  to  a  corner,  and  began,  "Now,  then, 
you  see  " —   This  was  the  signal  for  inexhaustible  com- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  21 

municationsj  of  which  she  never  tired.  Finally,  he 
asked  his  cousin  to  marry  him,  in  all  seriousness  ;  and, 
not  being  refused,  he  exacted  of  her  a  promise  that  she 
would  go  with  him  to  the  Curd  just  as  soon  as  he  was 
old  enough ;  after  which  he  considered  himself  to  all 
intents  her  husband.  Clelia  was  obliged  to  return  with 
her  parents  to  the  province,  and  the  separation  cost 
floods  of  tears.  The  infant's  fancy  seemed  to  have  all 
the  characteristics  of  a  violent  passion.  "  Do  not  for- 
get me  !  "  he  said,  when  his  cousin  was  taking  leave. 

"  Forget  you,"  she  cried :  "  why,  you  don't  seem  to 
understand  that  your  name  is  engraved  on  my  heart 
with  a  penknife  !  " 

To  qualify  himself  for  correspondence  with  his 
lady,  he  flung  himself  into  his  reading  and  writing 
lessons  with  inconceivable  enthusiasm.  When  the  young 
maiden  actually  married  a  husband  of  less  tender  years, 
it  became  necessary  to  make  a  mystery  of  it,  and  to 
give  the  hint  to  some  twenty  persons.  One  day  some 
one  of  them,  forgetful  of  instructions,  made  some  allu- 
sion to  Mme.  Moulin,  —  Clelia's  new  name  ;  when 
the  child  sprang  impetuously  into  the  midst  of  the 
circle. 

"  Whom  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  he  said.  "  Who  is 
Mme.  Moulin  ? " 

"  This  is  she,"  was  the  answer,  indicating  a  young  lady 
whom  he  did  not  know,  and  whose  presence  was  most 
opportune. 

He  looked  attentively  at  the  person  designated,  and 
then  returned  to  his  play.  A  few  days  later,  our  new 
cousin,  M.  Moulin,  came  to  see  us. 


22  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mies  set. 

"  I  have  seen  your  wife,"  said  Alfred  to  him.  "  She 
isn't  bad,  but  I  like  mine  better." 

The  secret  was  kept  in  this  way  for  a  number  of  years. 
At  last,  when  the  serious  business  of  education  and  the 
interests  of  school  life  had  changed  the  current  of  his 
ideas,  Alfred  was  informed  that  it  had  been  impossible 
for  his  cousin  to  wait  for  marriage  until  he  was  old 
enough  to  take  a  wife.  After  the  first  shock  occasioned 
by  the  revelation,  he  inquired,  trembling,  whether  it  were 
possible  that  Clelia  had  been  mocking  him.  When  they 
assured  him  that  she  still  loved  him  as  an  elder  sister, 
his  anxiety  was  allayed.  He  reflected  for  a  moment, 
and  replied,  "  Well,  I  will  be  content ! " ,  As  if  he 
could  have  understood  the  difference  between  a  wife 
and  a  sister! 

Mme.  Moulin  lived  at  Clermont,  in  Beauvoisis,  with 
her  husband  and  children.  We  were  closely  united  by 
community  of  interests  no  less  than  ties  of  blood.  But 
suddenly,  in  1836,  there  arose  a  misunderstanding 
between  us.  We  differed  about  a  matter  of  business. 
Sharp  letters  were  exchanged,  and  there  was  even  talk 
of  a  lawsuit.  Alfred  set  off  by  diligence  for  Clermont. 
He  entered  his  cousin's  house  unannounced  :  they  both 
burst  into  tears,  and  the  lawsuit  stopped  there.  From 
that  time  forward,  our  friendship  was  never  interrupted. 
Alfred  had  great  confidence  in  the  taste  and  judgment 
of  his  Cousin  Clelia.  She  came  to  Paris  in  1852,  to  be 
present  at  his  reception  by  the  French  Academy,  and 
the  very  last  time  he  saw  her  he  said  to  her :  "  When 
they  get  up  a  gorgeous  edition  of  my  works  on  the 
thickest  of  paper,  I  shall  have  a  copy  bound  for  you  in 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  23 

white  vellum  with  a  gold  band,  as  an  appropriate  me- 
morial of  our  attachment." 

I  need  but  to  recall  my  own  first  impressions,  in  order 
to  understand  those  of  my  brother,  concerning  the  great 
events  of  1814  and  1815.  More  than  once  we  wept 
together  over  the  misfortunes  of  our  country,  without  at 
all  comprehending  their  magnitude.  As  the  elder,  I 
undertook  to  have  political  opinions,  which  my  brother 
trustfully  adopted,  and  I  assisted  his  natural  precocity. 
We  were  brought  up  in  the  admiration  of  Napoleon,  of 
whom  our  mother  spoke  with  an  eloquence  which  filled 
us  with  enthusiasm.  This  great  figure,  which  we  appre- 
ciated after  our  own  fashion,  represented  to  us,  first  of 
all,  the  ideal  soldier,  the  warrior,  always  victorious.  Before 
we  understood  the  quality  of  his  genius,  we  regarded 
him  as  infallible  in  every  respect. 

To  us  the  Emperor  was  always  right.  The  snows  of 
Russia  had  conquered  him  to  be  sure,  but  the  snows  were 
to  blame  ;  and,  sooner  than  acknowledge  an  imprudence 
or  mistake  in  the  life  of  our  hero,  we  would  have 
brought  the  charge  against  God  himself.  Our  idolatry 
did  not  come  quite  to  this  pass,  however,  because  we 
found  plenty  of  mortals  to  accuse.  One  day  a  sack  of 
grain  was  brought  to  our  house,  and  deposited  in  a 
comer  of  the  office.  The  Emperor,  they  said,  was  com- 
ing to  defend  Paris  ;  and  we  must  expect  the  miseries  of 
a  besieged  city.  These  precautions  amazed  us.  If  the 
Emperor  was  coming  to  the  aid  of  Paris,  what  was  there 
to  fear  ?  Was  it  not  evident  that  the  enemy  could  not 
take  it  ?  But  the  Emperor  did  not  come.  One  day  our 
Uncle  Desherbiers  went  off  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder 


24  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

to  fight  on  the  defences.  That  day,  there  was  growling 
of  cannon,  and  the  servants  were  all  in  the  street  listen- 
ing to  the  noise  of  the  battle.  The  sound  died  away; 
and  our  uncle  came  back,  black  with  powder,  his  clothes 
and  hair  in  disarray.  A  few  days  later,  the  name  of 
Marmont  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  coupled  with  a 
thousand  curses.  We  learned  with  horror  that  men 
existed  capable  of  betraying  the  Emperor  and  their 
country.  What  the  charm  of  that  could  be,  no  one 
could  make  us  understand.  Good  Sylvain  Rondeau,  a 
stalwart  peasant  whom  our  father  had  taken  for  a  ser- 
vant, tried  vainly  to  explain  it  to  us  ;  but  the  results  of 
treason  appeared  only  too  plainly,  when  we  saw  the 
Prussian  soldiers  setting  up  their  cooking  apparatus  on 
the  garden-beds  of  the  Luxembourg,  and  defiling  the 
lake  water  by  washing  their  shirts  in  it.  On  the  square 
of  the  Odeon,  we  found  the  first  proclamation  of  Louis 
XVIII.  The  bill  was  slightly  attached,  and  I  sprang  at 
it  and  tore  it  down.  The  prudent  Sylvain  was  obliged 
to  drag  me  away  by  force.  Discord  reigned  in  our 
mother's  drawing-room  :  half  of  our  friends  had  already 
declared  for  the  new  regime,  and  they  quarrelled,  tooth 
and  nail.  Happily  the  spring  came,  and  we  were  taken 
to  our  great-aunt  Denoux,  at  Bagneux. 

There  were  some  Hungarian  hussars  lodged  among 
the  servants  in  the  house  at  Bagneux.  One  of  them,  an 
old  subaltern  officer,  with  a  fine  martial  figure,  took  a 
fancy  to  me.  The  moment  he  caught  sight  of  me,  he 
would  beckon  me  to  approach.  I  used  to  put  my  foot 
upon  the  stone  bench  in  the  stable,  and  he  would 
black  my  boots  assiduously.       During  the  process  I 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  2$ 

would  say,  —  well  knowing  that  he  understood  no  French, 
—  "  Black  away,  you  old  Cossack !  " 

But  the  old  soldier  took  us  around  the  garden  on 
horseback  with  such  complaisance  that  by  degrees  he 
won  our  affection.  The  day  the  regiment  left,  we  went 
to  bid  our  old  friend  Martin  good-by.  Before  mount- 
ing, he  clasped  us  in  his  arms,  and  great  tears  rolled 
down  upon  his  grizzled  moustache.  Perhaps  the  good 
man  had  left  children  in  his  own  country,  from  whom  he 
had  parted  more  sorrowfully  even  than  from  us. 

In  the  month  of  June  of  that  year,  18 14,  I  was 
separated  from  my  brother  for  some  days.  Our  father 
was  looking  for  a  wife  for  a  cousin  of  his,  and  our 
mother  had  precisely  what  was  required  ;  namely,  a 
charming  young  unmarried  cousin  of  her  own.  This 
cousin  lived  at  Joinville.  I  was  left  with  our  great- 
aunt  Denoux,  while  the  rest  went  to  Champagne,  where 
the  wedding  was  to  take  place.  On  the  journey,  my 
brother's  blonde  head,  always  at  the  opening  of  the 
post-chaise,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  peasants,  who 
imagined  him  to  be  the  King  of  Rome.  There  was  a 
row  in  one  village  where  they  stopped  to  change  horses, 
and  they  escaped  with  some  difficulty  from  the  hands  of 
the  Champagners,  who  were  persuaded  that  they  beheld 
the  son  of  the  great  exile  of  Elba. 

Our  mother  enjoyed,  like  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  the 
privilege  of  infallibility.  Our  trust  in  the  superiority  of 
her  knowledge,  and  the  certainty  of  her  conclusions,  was 
boundless ;  and  in  fact  she  was  very  seldom  mistaken. 
One  evening,  in  the  winter  of  1815,  when  she  was 
putting  me  to  bed,  I  heard  her,  through  the  open  door 


26  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

of  the  children's  sleeping-room,  pronounce  these  words, 
—  "This  cannot  last.  The  Bourbons  do  nothing  but 
blunder.    We  shall  see  the  Emperor  back  again." 

I  sprang  with  one  bound  to  my  brother's  bed,  who  was 
already  asleep.  I  woke  him  with  the  tidings  that  the 
Emperor  was  immediately  coming  back.  He  asked  me 
how  I  knew,  and  when-  I  told  him  that  our  mother  had 
just  said  so,  he  had  no  more  doubt  about  it  than  I.  We 
awaited  the  advent  of  our  hero  with  extreme  impatience. 
Finally,  on  the  twentieth  of  March,  he  came ;  and  the 
event  which  astonished  the  world  appeared  to  us  per- 
fectly natural. 

On  the  twenty-first  of  March,  Sylvain  took  us  into  the 
garden  of  the  Tuileries.  An  innumerable  multitude 
blocked  the  approaches  to  the  palace.  The  cheers,  end- 
lessly repeated  by  ten  thousand  voices,  became  one  con- 
tinuous sound,  so  that  one  could  only  hear  the  last  syllable 
eur  in  an  immense  murmur.  We  succeeded  in  slipping 
into  the  crowd,  just  under  the  balcony  of  the  pavilion 
d'Horloge.  There  the  Emperor  presently  made  his 
appearance,  surrounded  by  his  principal  officers.  He 
wore  the  uniform  of  the  dragoons,  with  white  trimmings 
and  riding-boots.  His  head  was  bare,  and  he  waddled 
a  little  in  walking,  as  though  encumbered  by  his  embon- 
point. I  can  see,  even  now,  the  fat  pale  face,  the 
Olympian  brow,  the  eyes  set  like  those  of  a  Greek 
statue,  the  piercing  look  which  he  bent  upon  the 
crowd.  How  unlike  he  was  to  the  men  around  him  ! 
What  a  contrast,  in  features  and  expression,  to  those 
vulgar  types  !  It  was  verily  Caesar  amid  the  blind  in- 
struments of  his  will.     Alfred  de  Musset  was  then  but 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  27 

little  more  than  four  years  old;  but  this  poetic  figure 
struck  him  so  vividly  that  he  never  forgot  it.  We 
devoured  it  with  our  eyes  for  the  fifteen  minutes  or 
so  that  it  posed  before  us,  and  then  it  vanished  for 
ever,  leaving  an  indelible  impress  upon  our  childish 
imaginations,  and  in  our  hearts  a  love  that  approached 
fanaticism. 

One  day  in  the  month  of  April  we  saw  defile,  under, 
the  trees  of  a  boulevard,  a  band  of  conscripts  and  en- 
listed volunteers.  No  doubt  they  had  come  a  long  way, 
and  by  forced  marches.  They  were  exhausted,  gasping, 
and  all  in  tatters.  The  spectacle  was  heart-rending. 
We  had  decided  that  Sylvain  Rondeau  ought  to  join  the 
army ;  but  he  was  deaf  to  our  appeals,  and  made  great 
sport  of  our  reproaches.  The  six  months  which  elapsed 
after  the  passage  of  the  troops  appeared  so  long  a  time 
to  us,  that  we  began,  for  very  weariness,  to  interest  our- 
selves in  something  beside  the  war.  One  morning  our 
mother  came  out  of  her  chamber  in  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
rent  by  agonizing  sobs.  We  followed  her  to  our  father's 
study,  weeping  and  wailing  too.  It  was  thus  that  the 
news  of  the  Waterloo  disaster  spread  through  the  house. 
I  can  hear  the  clamor  of  the  women  now.  A  little 
while  after  came  two  Prussian  officers  with  their  ticket 
entitling  them  to  quarters.  Two  rooms  had  been  pre- 
pared for  them  on  the  second  floor.  They  wanted  to 
see  the  drawing-room.  Our  mother  came  out  upon  the 
staircase,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  and  assured  them 
that  they  could  not  be  admitted  there.  One  of  the 
officers  then  attempted  to  snatch  the  key  from  her  ;  but 
she  flung  it  out  of    the  window  into   the   court,  and 


28  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

declined  to  be  intimidated  by  their  threats  and  their 
oaths.  Our  father  entered  in  the  midst  of  the  alterca- 
tion, took  the  Prussians  back  to  their  head-quarters, 
and  returned  with  two  other  officers  of  a  more  placable 
temper. 

Every  evening  the  discussions  between  our  parents 
and  our  friends  were  renewed  with  more  animation  than 
ever.  My  brother  and  I  could  not  comprehend  these 
differences  of  opinion.  All  that  was  said  about  the 
constitutional  rights  of  the  peers,  and  the  claim  of  the 
legitimate  princes  to  the  throne,  was  Hebrew  to  us. 
It  was  unanimously  decided  in  our  own  little  councils 
that  we  would  remain  true  to  our  Emperor,  that  our 
swords  and  our  life-blood  belonged  to  him  alone,  and 
that  he  would  certainly  come  back  one  day  and  require 
them  of  us,  and  lead  us  to  Vienna  and  Berlin  as  he 
had  done  our  fathers.  Until  a  new  miracle  like  the 
return  from  Elba  should  come  and  restore  to  us  the 
object  of  our  worship,  we  bade  a  temporary  farewell 
to  politics. 

Of  the  year  1816  we  preserved  only  the  memory  of 
an  intolerable  imprisonment,  occasioned  by  the  continu- 
ous rains.  Our  cook  Eulalie  laid  the  blame  of  the  bad 
weather  and  the  destruction  of  the  crops  to  the  return 
of  the  Bourbons,  which  seemed  to  us  an  incontrovertible 
position,  and  strengthened  us  in  our  hopes  of  a  better 
future.  However,  in  the  next  year,  I  was  sent  to  a 
boarding-school,  where  my  brother  came  only  in  the 
morning  as  a  day  pupil,  and  returned  home  at  night. 
Upon  the  narrow  stage  of  that  school,  with  its  hundred 
pupils,   appeared   all   the   political   passions  by  which 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  29 

France  was  then  torn.  There  were  royalists,  liberals, 
hypocrites,  and  informers.  The  first  held  their  heads 
high,  and  the  local  government,  that  is  to  say  the  head 
of  the  institution,  showed  them  a  marked  partiality. 
They  had  all  sorts  of  privileges,  places  of  honor  among 
the  rest,  awarded,  not  for  good  lessons  or  good  conduct, 
but  for  the  political  and  religious  views  which  they 
paraded.  The  most  exalted  of  these  young  extremists 
sat  at  a  separate  table  in  the  recess  of  a  walled-up  door, 
where  there  was  a  gorgeous  blue  paper  covered  with 
gold  fleurs-de-lis.  We  would  not  for  the  world  have 
aspired  to  the  privileges  of  this  class,  and  our  indiffer- 
ence in  this  matter  caused  us  to  be  classed,  by  our 
orthodox  comrades,  among  the  lukewarm  and  suspects. 
This  unpleasant  position  attracted  to  us  affronts,  injuries, 
and  persecutions.  Happily,  the  preceptor  supposed  us 
more  devoted  to  the  existing  order  of  things  than  we 
really  were,  and  his  protection  saved  us  some  ill  treat- 
ment. But,  fifteen  years  later,  Alfred  found  in  the  rem- 
iniscences of  this  period  the  germ  of  his  "  Confession  d'un 
Enfant  du  Sibcle."  My  sorrowful  estate  as  a  constant 
boarder  rendered  this  life  of  constraint  and  suspicion  a 
great  deal  more  painful  to  me  than  it  was  to  my  brother. 
I  could  not  understand  how  my  mother  could  leave 
me  so  far  away:  I  even  doubted  her  tenderness,  and 
became  desperate.  When  it  came  time  to  resume 
the  yoke,  after  vacation,  I  would  gladly  have  died. 
Happily  I  came  home  one  day  with  scarlet  fever,  and 
my  brother  took  it.  There  was  no  more  question  of 
banishing  us  from  the  paternal  roof,  and  we  had  a 
tutor. 


30  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

It  was  during  our  convalescence  that  Alfred  was  in- 
formed of  the  marriage  of  his  cousin  Clelia.  To  console 
the  young  swain  for  the  loss  of  his  bride,  and  to  supply 
the  place  of  the  charming  stories  which  she  used  to  im- 
provise for  his  amusement,  we  had  recourse  to  books. 
We  devoured  together  all  the  Persian  and  Arabian  tales 
on  which  we  could  lay  our  hands :  the  "  Thousand  and 
One  Days,"  the  "  Thousand  and  One  Nights,"  and  the 
sequel  by  Calotte.  Our  appetite  for  the  marvellous 
was  not  satisfied  by  reading  these  tales  a  thousand 
times  :  we  wished  to  act  them  as  comedies. 

We  therefore  built,  in  the  first  place,  an  oriental 
edifice,  approached  by  a  spiral  staircase  of  at  least 
twenty  steps,  the  lowest  of  which  was  a  music-book,  and 
the  uppermost  a  writing-desk.  The  door  was  a  folio 
volume  which  was  made  to  turn  on  its  hinges  by  means 
of  a  cord  passed  through  the  loose  binding  at  the  back. 
We  descended  into  the  interior  of  this  labyrinth  by 
means  of  a  ladder  of  upholstery,  disguised  by  fanciful 
architectural  ornaments.  The  other  outlet  of  this  mon- 
ument could  be  used  for  exits,  but  not  for  entrances.  It 
was  a  long  plank  smeared  with  wax  sloping  steeply  to  a 
mattress,  down  upon  which  we  slid,  and  whereby  we 
executed  precipitate  flights,  effective  aerial  voyages,  and 
the  sudden  apparition  of  the  genie  with  the  wonderful 
lamp.  This  construction  represented  by  turns  the 
palace  of  the  Calif  Haroun,  and  that  of  the  noble 
Aboul-Kasem,  the  cave  with  the  bronze  gate,  the  grotto 
of  Ali-Baba,  &c. 

Our  play-hours  were  presently  insufficient  for  enjoy- 
ments so  keen,  and  in  vain  did  our  tutor  take  us  off  to 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  3 1 

study.  He  could  not  withdraw  us  from  the  fantastic 
realms  where  we  were  living.  The  play  went  on  all 
through  our  lessons,  despite  reprimands  and  punish- 
ments. We  had  talismans  hidden  in  our  pockets,  and 
the  red  ring  of  Maugraby  came  out  of  our  sleeves  the 
minute  our  teacher's  back  was  turned.  In  the  evening, 
in  our  mother's  drawing-room,  we  transformed  into  all 
sorts  of  animals  the  people  who  had  not  the  good  fortune 
to  please  us ;  and,  when  we  were  sent  to  bed,  we  slept  the 
sleep  of  Abou-Hassan,  the  better  to  play  next  morning 
the  tale  of  the  "  Sleeper  Awakened." 

These  amusements  lasted  throughout  the  year  18 18. 
We  were  then  living  in  the  Rue  Casette,  in  a  house 
belonging  to  the  Baroness  Gobert,  widow  of  a  general 
who  had  died  gloriously  under  the  empire.  Her  son, 
the  sole  survivor  of  eight  children,  was  of  a  silent  and 
melancholy  turn,  and  a  request  came  that  he  might  be 
allowed  to  join  our  fairy  performances.  L^on  Gobert 
was  a  singular  child,  with  a  big  head  and  a  voice  like  a 
man's,  and  I  did  not  then  remember  ever  to  have  seen 
him  laugh.  He  was  just  half  way  between  Alfred  and 
myself  in  age,  being  two  years  older  than  my  brother. 
We  considered  him  an  excellent  recruit  for  our  company. 
He  was  carping  and  difficult  at  first ;  but  by  and  by  he 
came  to  like  it,  and  caught  our  oriental  fever.  The 
baroness,  always  absorbed  in  the  health  of  her  son,  gave 
up  to  us  her  drawing-room,  where  a  frightful  disorder 
soon  prevailed.  At  the  end  of  a  month,  our  new  com- 
panion was  no  longer  the  same  child.  His  bright  face, 
his  energy,  his  liveliness,  confounded  the  physician  who 
had  thought  him  the  victim  of  an  incurable  malady.     It 


32  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

is  certain  that  L^on  Gobert  passed  without  accident  the 
age  at  which  his  brothers  and  sisters  had  been  taken 
away.  He  survived  his  mother,  and  died  in  Egypt  by 
his  own  imprudence,  after  having  established  a  his- 
torical prize  which  furnished  a  life-annuity  to  Augustin 
Thierry. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  33 


II. 


'T^HE  Baroness  Gobert  was  so  grateful  for  her  son's 
-*-  restoration  to  life,  that  she  was  anxious  to  do  us 
as  great  a  favor  as  we  had  done  her.  She  positively 
insisted  on  lending  to  our  parents  her  estate  of  the 
Clignets,  situated  on  the  road  to  Viarmes,  very  near  the 
forest  of  Carnelle.  The  house,  which  had  been  unoccu- 
pied and  closed  for  many  years,  was  queerly  arranged 
and  somewhat  dilapidated.  Outside,  it  looked  like  the 
fragment  of  some  ruined  convent,  with  its  narrow  and 
irregular  windows.  Buttresses  sustained  the  walls,  from 
which  the  stucco  had  fallen  -,  and  in  the  evening  we  could 
see  the  rats  and  dormice  scudding  along  by  moonlight. 
Inside,  there  were  some  ten  principal  rooms,  of  which 
three  or  four  were  habitable,  and  in  these  were  collected 
the  best  pieces  of  the  worm-eaten  furniture.  In  the  gar- 
den, —  which  had  been  laid  out  in  the  English  fashion, 
with  winding  walks,  old  trees,  and  dense  thickets,  —  we 
were  delighted  to  observe  a  rampart-like  terrace,  a  long 
alley  bordered  by  cherry-trees  laden  with  fruit,  and  a 
mound  of  artificial  rock-work,  which  might  have  been 
erected  by  the  decorative  artist  of  our  oriental  comedies. 
This  hillock  came  near  occasioning  a  serious  accident. 
In  climbing  upon  it,  Alfred  laid  hold  of  a  rock,  which 
became  loosened,  and  rolled  with  him  to  the  bottom.  I 
thought  he  was  dead ;  but  he  came  off  with  a  contusion 
of  the  leg,  and  a  few  bruises  on  his  hands.     The  Due 

3 


34  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

de  Bourbon  was  not  so  fortunate.  In  one  of  our  ex- 
cursions in  the  great  forest  of  Carnelle,  we  were  follow- 
ing the  chase  at  full  speed.  All  at  once,  we  heard  a 
strange  noise  in  the  copse,  and  what  seemed  a  black 
flying  mass  went  by  us,  grazing  the  earth.  It  was  the 
boar.  He  flung  himself  upon  a  rearing  horse,  who  fell 
with  his  rider.  The  swooning  prince  was  lifted  up.  He 
had  several  dangerous  wounds,  and  was  long  confined  to 
his  bed ;  but  recovered  at  last,  and  was  reserved  for 
a  more  terrible  death  behind  closed  doors. 

Our  residence  at  Clignets  permitted  us  to  display  our 
enterprising  temper  upon  a  broader  stage.  Dr.  Espar- 
ron  had  said  to  our  mother,  "What  children  need  is 
sun,  air,  and  exercise."  We  were  given  loose  rein,  there- 
fore, and  made  ample  use  of  our  liberty.  Our  greatest 
delight  was  to  propose  some  difficult  expedition :  like 
making  the  circuit  of  the  garden  on  the  top  of  the  wall ; 
or  climbing  a  tree  as  far  as  some  branch  particularly 
designated ;  or  taking  a  bee-line  from  one  point  to 
another,  turning  aside  neither  for  hedges  nor  ditches. 
Our  tutor,  who  was  twenty-five,  sometimes  accepted  our 
challenges.  That  was  a  happy  day  when  he  retreated 
before  a  pool  of  water,  which  his  pupils  leaped  by  means 
of  poles.  Our  tutor  was,  however,  an  excellent  man, 
accomplished  without  pedantry,  who  found  means  to 
teach  us  something  even  while  he  played  with  us.  Our 
history  lesson  was  given  during  our  walk.  He  under- 
stood Italian,  and  we  learned  it  orally.  In  certain 
hours,  we  were  forbidden  to  speak  French ;  and,  when 
we  did  not  know  the  Italian  word,  the  master  would 
hand  us  his  pocket-dictionary.     As  for  geography,  he 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  35 

made  that  study  most  agreeable  by  introducing  stories  of 
celebrated  travellers ;  and  Magellan,  Vasco  de  Gama, 
and  Captain  Cook,  took  their  turn  in  our  fictions. 
The  two  years  devoted  to  us  by  this  excellent  instructor 
were,  to  say  the  least,  much  pleasanter  and  more  profit- 
able than  our  school-years.     His  name  was  Bouvrain. 

The  farm  of  the  Clignets  lay  alongside  the  mansion. 
The  farmer,  M.  Piedeleu,  was  six  feet  high,  with  the  shoul- 
ders of  Atlas,  although  a  little  bent  by  age.  His  wife,  who 
was  but  a  few  inches  shorter  than  himself,  looked  like  a 
giantess  ;  and,  when  they  went  to  mass  on  Sunday  with 
their  sons  around  them,  they  looked  like  a  family  from 
Brobdignag.  The  first  time  that  we  penetrated  the  farm 
limits, — it  was  one  evening  after  dinner,  —  one  of  the 
Piedeleu  sons  had  by  the  horns  a  vicious  young  cow 
who  wanted  to  get  away,  and  was  pushing  her  back- 
wards into  the  stable.  Two  other  boys  were  unbending 
after  the  labors  of  the  day,  by  standing  on  its  end  a 
long  stone  of  enormous  weight,  which  served  them  for  a 
bench.  The  father  was  contemplating  with  folded  arms 
a  new  wheel  which  had  just  been  put  to  his  cart,  and 
the  mother  and  youngest  girl  were  preparing  supper. 
Nothing  is  so  admirable  to  children  as  physical  strength. 
The  interior  of  the  farm-yard  and  the  assemblage  of 
colossi  impressed  themselves  so  deeply  upon  the 
memory  of  the  eight-year-old  scholar,  that  they  were 
afterwards  faithfully  reproduced  in  the  little  story  of 
"  Margot." 

These  Pied^leus,  good  folk  as  they  were,  did  us  an  ill 
turn.  They  had  built  a  huge  hay-rick  in  the  middle  of 
the  court-yard,  and  we  discerned  in   the  rick  a  small 


2)6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

opening,  a  few  feet  above  the  ground,  whence  protruded 
the  head  of  a  cat.  We  started  in  pursuit  of  the  animal, 
who  came  out  on  the  other  side  of  the  rick  by  an 
interior  passage.  Enchanted  by  our  discovery,  we  never 
went  to  the  farm  again  without  crossing  the  hay-rick  by 
the  cat's  passage.  One  day  two  of  the  Piedeleu  boys 
lay  in  wait  for  us,  and  seized  the  moment  when  we  were 
in  the  centre  of  the  gallery  to  stuff  the  two  orifices 
with  bundles  of  hay.  To  struggle  with  the  colossi 
would  have  been  useless.  We  thought  of  nothing  but 
clearing  a  new  passage  at  the  side  of  the  obstacle  which 
opposed  us.  In  a  moment  the  air  was  exhausted,  and  I 
felt  that  we  should  be  stifled.  At  last  I  succeeded  by 
■  frantic  efforts  in  clearing  an  opening,  out  of  which  I 
burst  head-foremost  upon  the  pavement  of  the  court, 
crying  to  the  peasants  to  save  my  brother.  Most  fortu- 
nately, he  was  directly  behind,  and  came  out  by  the  same 
way  as  myself ;  for  those  good  giants  never  budged,  and 
only  laughed  at  my  fiery  face  and  protruding  eyes. 
When  our  tutor  told  them  that  if  their  fun  had  lasted 
five  minutes  longer  we  should  have  been  suffocated, 
they  asked  what  that  was ;  nor  could  they  ever  be  made 
to  understand  that  there  was  any  danger  in  being 
smothered  with  hay. 

The  Piedeleus  also  caused  us  another  mischance. 
There  was  a  great  dove-cot  at  the  farm,  and  the  pigeons 
used  to  swoop  down  into  the  garden  and  upon  the  terrace 
of  the  mansion.  One  of  these  birds,  less  shy  than  the 
rest,  honored  us  with  his  friendship.  We  used  to  give 
him  grain,  which  he  learned  to  take  out  of  our  very 
hands.      One  day  a  cook,  from   the  village  of    Saint 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  37 

Martin  du  Tertre,  bought  two  pairs  of  pigeons,  and  be- 
sought the  farmer's  wife  to  kill  him  some  more.  When 
the  tidings  reached  us,  the  massacre  had  already  begun. 
We  rushed  to  the  farm,  trembling  lest  we  should  recog- 
nize our  friend  among  the  victims.  Unfortunately,  our 
mother  also  arrived  during  the  execution  ;  and,  when  she 
saw  us  eagerly  watching  the  strangled  birds  and  the 
bloody  hands  of  Mme.  Pieddleu,  she  thought  we  were 
enjoying  the  disgusting  spectacle  :  her  indignation  was 
equal  to  her  grief,  and  she  overwhelmed  us  with  re- 
proaches. I  may  as  well  confess  here  that  my  disposi- 
tion was  different  from  my  brother's,  and  that  his  was 
the  better.  He  wanted  to  justify  himself ;  but  I  held 
back,  and  whispered  to  him  to  be  silent.  It  was  the 
injustice  that  I  resented,  and  I  repelled  the  notion  of 
self-defence  as  a  fresh  outrage.  My  brother  did  not 
share  this  feeling ;  but  he  respected  it,  and  we  both  kept 
silence.  Again  and  again,  he  asked  me  if  it  were  not 
time  to  explain  that  great  affair  of  the  pigeons,  and  my 
answer  was,  "  Not  yet.  We  will  see  by  and  by."  By 
and  by  he  forgot  all  about  it,  and  left  to  me  alone  the 
duty  of  arranging  the  vindication  of  our  innocence. 
But  we  were  men  before  the  misunderstanding  was 
removed. 

The  fogs  and  chill  of  November  drove  us  from  the 
country.  Once  more  in  our  apartment  at  the  Rue 
Casette,  we  were  like  wild  plants  in  a  hot-bed.  Alfred 
had  attacks  of  frenzy  from  the  want  of  fresh  air  and 
space,  very  like  those  which  are  said  to  attend  chlorosis 
in  young  girls.  In  one  day  he  broke  one  of  the  draw- 
ing-room mirrors  with  an  ivory  ball,  cut  the  new  curtains 


38  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

with  the  scissors,  and  stuck  an  immense  red  wafer  on 
the  map  of  Europe,  in  the  middle  of  the  Mediterranean 
Sea.  He  got  no  reprimand  for  these  disasters,  because 
he  appeared  himself  to  regard  them  with  consternation. 
It  was  I  who  undertook  to  keep  them  in  his  remem- 
brance. When  in  our  confabulations  he  asked  my 
opinion  about  any  thing  which  I  did  not  approve,  I  used 
to  say  to  him,  "  The  glass  is  broken,  but  no  matter ; 
only  try  not  to  cut  the  curtains  and  stick  wafers  on  the 
Mediterranean  Sea."  The  reminder  always  made  him 
laugh,  and  he  heard  me  out  with  patience. 

Among  the  books  of  our  Grandfather  Desherbiers,  I 
found  one  day  the  "  Legend  of  the  Four  Sons." 

The  perusal  thereof  plunged  me  into  a  deep  reverie. 
Anew  world  opened  before  me,  —  the  world  of  chivalry. 
At  the  first  word  of  it  to  my  brother,  he  took  fire.  We 
cried  aloud  for  romances.  They  gave  us  "  Jerusalem 
Delivered,"  and  we  made  but  one  mouthful  of  it.  We 
must  have  "Orlando  Furioso,"  and  then  "Amadis," 
"  Pierre  of  Provence,"  and  "  Gerard  of  Nevers,"  &c.  We 
were  on  the  look-out  for  combats,  deeds  of  prowess,  and 
great  feats  with  the  lance  and  sword.  Of  the  love-scenes 
we  made  little  account,  and  when  the  Paladins  began  to 
bill  and  coo  we  were  wont  to  turn  the  page.  Our  imagina- 
tions presently  teemed  with  adventures.  We  rated  far 
above  the  rest  the  heroes  who  owed  their  success  to  their 
own  personal  valor.  For  this  reason,  Renaud  de  Montau- 
ban  bore  off  the  palm  from  all  his  rivals,  and  became  the 
type  of  an  accomplished  chevalier.  All  these  fabulous 
people  were  weighed  in  our  righteous  balance,  and  re- 
ceived a  rank  in  accordance  with  their  merit,  and  each 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  39 

one  was  included  in  a  category.  Renaud  alone  could 
not  be  classified.  From  Charlemagne  to  Maugis,  and 
Huon  de  Bordeaux,  no  one  was  forgotten.  If  the  great 
Don  Quixote  himself  could  have  been  present  at  our 
deliberations,  he  would  have  approved  our  conscientious 
impartiality,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  his  High- 
ness would  have  confirmed  most  of  our  judgments. 

This  labor  of  classification  once  completed,  we  felt 
our  minds  relieved,  and  resumed  our  dramatic  represen- 
tations. Ldon  Gobert  played  his  parts  admirably,  and 
the  character  which  he  personated  best  was  that  of  Ro- 
land. From  the  moment  of  entering  the  lists,  he  laid 
about  him  with  positive  fury.  Alfred,  as  the  weakest, 
was  privileged  to  wield  the  enchanted  lance,  which  un- 
seated, by  magic,  the  strongest  and  boldest  knights. 
Whoever  was  touched  by  that  was  bound  to  fall,  and 
thus  an  equality  was  maintained  among  the  combatants. 
But  our  passion  for  chivalry  put  the  patience  of  our 
tutor  to  a  severe  trial.  Too  often,  instead  of  listening 
to  him,  we  were  prancing  through  the  forest  of  Ardennes. 
He  was  quite  right  to  be  angry,  but  we  were  incorrigible. 
To  avoid  his  penalties  we  invented  a  diabolical  ruse. 
On  each  page  of  Noel's  Latin  Dictionary  was  inscribed 
the  name  of  a  cavalier.  Whoever  had  a  word  to  look 
out  in  the  dictionary  must  assume  the  character  whose 
name  he  found  on  the  page  containing  the  Latin  word. 
The  name  of  the  braver  of  two  knights  caused  the 
pupil  who  got  it  to  score  one,  that  of  the  inferior 
knight  lost  one  to  the  other ;  and  thus,  under  the  pretext 
of  Latin  translation,  our  game  went  on  under  the  mas- 
ter's very  nose.     One  day  our  good  M.  Bouvrain  was 


40  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

himself  looking  in  the  dictionary,  and  chanced  upon  the 
name  of  the  traitor  Ganelon  ;  whereupon,  his  two  pupils 
burst  into  a  laugh  as  silly  as  that  of  Nicole  in  the 
"  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme." 

I  should  not  dwell  on  these  trifles,  if  I  did  not  think 
that  they  suggest  subjects  for  reflection  to  those  who 
are  devoted  to  the  thankless  calling  of  the  teacher. 
Instead  of  making  war  on  our  infatuation  for  the  heroes 
of  chivalry,  why  might  they  not  have  turned  our  school- 
boy passion  to  good  account  in  our  education  ?  All  that 
was  needed  was  to  offer  to  our  starved  imaginations  a 
better  diet.  Would  it  not  have  been  possible,  by  a  little 
tact  and  indulgence,  to  substitute  the  heroes  of  Plutarch 
for  those  of  the  Bibliotheqiie  bleue  ?  Our  enthusiasm  would 
have  fastened  upon  Themistocles  or  Paulus  Emilius, 
and  we  should  have  condemned  the  bad  faith  of  Lysan- 
der  no  less  severely  than  the  perfidy  of  Ganelon.  But 
it  costs  a  great  effort  to  study  the  characters,  tastes,  and 
instincts  of  children  ;  and  I  can  well  understand  that  it 
is  more  convenient  to  treat  them  all  alike. 

The  year  1819  was  distinguished  in  our  memories  by 
the  important  episode  of  a  journey  to  Brittany.  After 
staying  a  month  in  the  little  town  of  Fougeres,  where 
Uncle  Desherbiers  was  sub-prefect,  we  went  to  Rennes 
to  visit  a  friend  of  our  father.  The  artillery  regiment 
quartered  in  the  town  afforded  the  inhabitants  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  polygon  by  night.  On  the  day  succeeding 
the  celebration,  there  was  a  party  at  the  house  of  our 
host,  and  several  artillery  officers  were  present.  The 
colonel's  son,  who  professed  to  know  how  to  draw, 
sketched  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  some  mortars  and  can- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  41 

non  ;  and,  to  represent  the  curve  described  by  a  bomb- 
shell, he  naively  traced  some  regular  semicircles. 

"That  is  wrong,"  said  Alfred.  "The  bomb  is  fired  in 
a  straight  line,  and  then,  as  it  loses  its  force,  it  changes 
its  direction  little  by  little,  until  the  weight  of  it  brings 
it  down  to  the  ground.  And  it  doesn't  go  in  a  circle, 
but  in  a  line  that  is  curved  in  the  middle  and  straight 
at  both  ends." 

And  he  took  the  pen  and  drew  some  parabolas  on  the 
paper.  The  colonel's  son,  trained  in  the  artillery,  was 
vain  and  obstinate  enough  to  defend  his  own  work. 
But  an  officer  to  whom  they  appealed  as  umpire  looked 
with  amazement  on  the  babe  who  had  solved  a  problem 
in  statics,  and  did  not  fail  to  assure  our  mother  that  her 
infant  phenomenon  would  one  day  be  a  great  mathema- 
tician. He  was  mistaken.  Alfred  had  no  taste  for  the 
exact  sciences ;  but  he  had  a  correct  eye,  and  could  tell 
what  he  saw. 

We  had  been  promised  a  sight  of  the  ocean  ;  and  our 
host  took  us  in  a  carriage  to  Dinan,  where  we  embarked 
with  other  passengers  upon  a  river  which  empties  into 
the  bay  of  Saint  Servan.  A  violent  storm  broke  upon 
us  at  nightfall,  just  as  we  were  out  on  the  open  sea.  A 
squall  struck  our  bark  and  snapped  the  mast,  and 
whirled  away  into  the  air  the  shako  of  a  soldier.  The 
passengers  set  up  a  doleful  wail,  and  the  captain  lost 
his  head.  Fortunately,  a  large  fishing-craft,  just  enter- 
ing port,  overhauled  us  off  Cape  Malo,  where  we  arrived 
damp  and  chilled,  but  enchanted  at  having  made  the 
ocean's  acquaintance  through  the  medium  of  a  slight 
shipwreck. 


42  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

On  our  return  to  Paris,  in  the  early  days  of  October, 
our  tutor  expressed  a  wish  to  leave  j  and  the  man  who 
applied  for  the  place  was  an  ass  who  affected  fashion, 
but  whose  ignorance  soon  became  manifest.  Our  father 
thought  a  public  education  the  only  suitable  one  for 
boys,  and  he  placed  me  in  an  institution.  My  brother 
remained  at  home  and  attended  classes  as  a  day-scholar 
in  the  college  of  Henry  IV.  He  was  but  nine  years 
old,  but  they  thought  him  fit  to  enter  the  sixth  form, 
which  proves  that  good  M.  Bouvrain's  lessons  had  not 
been  so  bad.  On  the  day  that  he  entered  school,  the 
spoiled  child  was  greeted  by  the  hootings  of  his  com- 
panions. He  had  imprudently  been  allowed  to  retain 
his  beautiful  light  curls,  and  a  scalloped  collar  turned 
down  upon  his  shoulders.  He  came  home  weeping,  and 
insisted  on  having  his  hair  cut  at  once.  But,  though  he 
took  this  experience  tragically,  it  was  one  of  those  mor- 
tifications which  help  to  mould  the  character.  It  is 
altogether  wholesome  to  come  in  contact  with  ridicule 
and  ill-nature,  when  one  is  released  from  the  maternal 
apron-string.  We  cannot  learn  too  early  to  defend  our- 
selves, and  not  to  rely  on  the  indulgence  of  others. 
This  lesson,  however,  was  followed  by  a  far  more  cruel 
test,  such  as  few  have  undergone  at  so  tender  an  age. 

Alfred  early  took  a  high  rank  in  composition,  and 
was  noticed  by  the  professor.  The  head  of  a  large  in- 
stitution, where  the  course  was  very  severe,  wanted  to 
take  him  gratuitously  into  his  own  house,  declaring  that 
he  would  be  responsible  for  the  boy's  obtaining  prizes  at 
the  general  competition.  Our  mother  rejected  the  offer 
decisively,  fearing  that  her  son's  health  woilld  be  sacri- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  43 

ficed  to  the  reputation  of  the  establishment.  She  never 
repented  her  prudence.  There  was  no  need  to  stimulate 
Alfred's  ambition ;  and,  without  working  very  hard,  he 
was  sufficiently  successful.  Once,  when  he  was  not  as- 
signed a  place  on  the  seat  of  honor,  he  was  so  aggrieved 
as  to  be  almost  inconsolable.  He  nearly  cried  his  eyes 
out,  and  was  afraid  to  be  seen  ;  but,  when  he  found  that 
he  was  welcomed  even  more  tenderly  than  usual,  he  re- 
alized, with  a  rapture  which  he  never  forgot,  that  he  was 
yet  nearer  to  his  mother's  heart  than  he  had  supposed. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  was  the  smallest  member  of  his 
class ;  and  a  ferocious  hatred  was  excited  among  the  baser 
sort  of  his  fellow-pupils  against  the  little  blond  who  was 
always  at  the  head,  and  whom  the  professor  set  above 
the  rest.  The  laziest  formed  among  themselves  an 
offensive  league  against  him  ;  and  every  day,  when  he 
came  out  of  the  college-building,  the  model  pupil  was 
saluted  with  a  shower  of  blows.  They  chased  him  into 
the  very  arms  of  the  servant  who  waited  for  him  at  the 
gate ;  and  the  court-yard  being  a  large  one,  he  arrived 
very  ill-used,  —  his  clothes  in  disorder,  and  sometimes 
even  with  blood  upon  his  face.  The  conspiracy  lasted 
for  more  than  a  month,  and  all  that  while  the  poor  child 
had  to  contend  against  the  base  passion  of  envy,  under 
its  most  brutal  and  cynical  form  ;  so  that  he  learned  in 
his  very  infancy  that  the  vulgar  do  not  bear  themselves 
toward  superior  men  as  they  do  toward  the  rest  of  the 
world.  It  was  L^on  Gobert  who  brought  this  infamous 
persecution  to  an  end.  He  attended  the  school  for 
history  lessons  only.  One  day,  seeing  his  friend  fall 
into  one  of  these  ambuscades,  he  flung  himself  into  the 


44  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mils  set. 

melee  like  a  young  lion,  and  dealt  such  terrific  whacks 
on  all  sides  that  envy  succumbed,  and  the  league  was 
dissolved  for  ever. 

After  my  brother  and  I  were  separated,  I  saw  him 
only  on  Sundays.  On  that  day  we  returned  to  our 
chivalric  romances  ;  but  whether  or  no  the  cares  of  real 
life  had  shaken  our  faith  and  cooled  our  enthusiasm, 
it  is  certain  that  we  did  not  bring  to  our  make-believe 
the  same  ardor  as  heretofore.  One  day  Alfred  asked 
me  seriously  what  I  thought  of  magic,  and  particularly 
of  the  enchanter  Merlin.  I  was  obliged  to  allow  that 
those  stories  were  probably  all  made  up  by  poets,  and 
other  ingenious  writers  ;  that  the  wonderful  adventures 
of  Roland  were  fables,  and  that  Merlin  had  never  en- 
chanted anybody. 

"What  a  pity!"  said  Alfred,  with  a  sigh.  "But  even 
if  you  can't  make  yourself  invisible,  or  go  in  a  flash 
from  one  place  to  another,  or  have  a  genie  at  your  beck, 
there  is  nothing  to  hinder  your  making  secret  staircases 
in  a  thick  wall,  or  having  a  hidden  door  in  a  wainscot 
panel,  which  will  open  by  pushing  a  spring,  if  not  by 
saying  magic  words." 

I  told  him  that  I  firmly  believed  in  hidden  staircases 
and  secret  doors. 

"  Well,  then,  what  are  we  thinking  about  ? "  he  cried. 
"We  have  lived  in  this  house  several  years,  and  how 
do  we  know  that  there  isn't,  even  here,  some  mysterious 
passage  or  other,  or  some  way  of  going  from  one  story 
to  another  through  the  inside  of  the  walls  ?  " 

But  a  searching  examination  convinced  us  of  the 
mournful  truth  that  there  was  no  mysterious  outlet  to 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  45 

our  house.  When  I  saw  how  disappointed  my  brother 
was,  I  wanted  to  afford  him  one  moment  of  illusion. 
The  dwelling  of  the  Baroness  Gobert  had  only  a  ground- 
floor  and  two  stories.^  We  occupied  the  second ;  and 
we  had,  besides,  a  large  kitchen  under  the  roof,  and  two 
servants'  rooms  which  looked  into  the  gutter.  At  the 
risk  of  breaking  my  neck,  I  climbed  by  this  gutter  from 
one  chamber  to  the  other.  The  maid-servant  had  in- 
serted in  the  wood-work  a  gilded  copper  hook  with 
a  screw,  to  hang  her  watch  upon.  I  decided  that  this 
hook  should  be  the  key  of  a  hinged  panel ;  and  I  pom- 
pously informed  my  brother  that  there  was  a  secret  pas- 
sage in  the  partition  between  the  two  attics.  The  news 
excited  him  so  much  that  he  turned  pale  with  joy.  Be- 
fore unfolding  to  him  the  mystery,  I  required  him  to 
allow  me  to  make  the  transit  without  seeing  how  I  did 
it.  We  mounted  to  the  attic.  He  shut  his  eyes  and 
stopped  his  ears  with  all  the  simplicity  and  good  faith 
of  a  true  believer.  I  slid  noiselessly  along  the  gutter. 
When  he  heard  me  call  him  from  the  next  room,  his  sur- 
prise was  extreme.  The  idea  did  not  occur  to  him  to 
open  his  eyes  and  watch  me,  for  he  shrank  from  finding 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  flat  reality.  He  wished, 
however,  to  traverse  the  wall  for  himself;  and,  under 
my  directions,  he  turned  the  copper  key  eleven  times 
one  way,  and  thirteen  the  other ;  and  I  know  not  how 
many  more  times  from  right  to  left,  and  left  to  right. 
He  stayed  there  half  an  hour,  thinking  that  he  had 
made  some  mistake.     At  last  I  revealed  my  stratagem, 

1  This  house,   No.  27  Rue  Casette,  has  recently  had  another  story 
added. 


46  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

and  the  magic  was  dispelled.  Alfred  thanked  me  for 
the  deception  as  for  a  delicate  attention  ;  but  he  felt  the 
illusion  to  have  been  too  early  lost.  He  promised 
himself  the  pleasure  of  playing  the  same  trick  on  our 
neighbor  L^on  Gobert ;  but  that  youth  had  no  faith, 
He  made  haste  to  open  his  eyes  and  dart  at  the  gutter, 
so  that  the  trick  was  not  even  played  out. 

The  adventure  of  the  secret  door  was  just  before  the 
first  of  January.  Whether  by  chance,  or  intentionally, 
our  parents  gave  us  for  our  New  Year's  present  the  Don 
Quixote  of  Cervantes,  and  that  charming  work  dealt  the 
last  blow  to  our  demoralized  taste  for  chivalry.  We  saw 
more  clearly  than  more  rational  readers  that  the  work 
of  Cervantes  is  full  of  wisdom,  moderation,  and  good 
sense  ;  that  it  is  calculated  to  clear  the  mind  of  extrava- 
gant and  ridiculous  rubbish ;  and  that  it  hits  precisely, 
without  overpassing,  the  end  at  which  the  author  aims,  — 
namely,  as  Cervantes  himself  says,  to  hold  up  to  the 
contempt  of  mankind  a  false  and  absurd  school  of  litera- 
ture. So  ended,  in  Alfred  de  Musset's  childhood,  the 
era  of  the  marvellous  and  the  impossible ;  a  sort  of  erup- 
tion which  his  imagination  had  to  undergo,  —  a  malady 
without  danger  for  him,  since  he  recovered  from  it  at  an 
age  at  which  others  are  barely  attacked ;  and  all  the 
traces  it  left  were  a  poetic  and  generous  element,  a  cer- 
tain inclination  to  look  at  life  as  a  romance,  a  child-like 
curiosity,  and  a  sort  of  admiration  for  the  unexpected, — 
for  concatenations  of  events  and  the  caprices  of  chance. 
This  slightly  fatalistic  tendency  may  be  recognized  in 
his  novels  and  comedies,  especially  in  the  characters  to 
which  he  lends  his  own  views  and  feelings. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  47 


III. 


I  .""OR  those  unfortunates  who  go  to  school,  the  year 
•*•  is  reduced  to  the  six  weeks  of  vacation  :  the  rest  is 
but  a  series  of  insipid  days  during  which  one  flounders 
in  Latin,  with  one's  elbows  on  a  desk,  and  when  it  would 
not  be  worth  while  to  live,  were  it  not  conceded  that 
there  is  no  other  way  of  becoming  a  man.  Alfred  de 
Musset  was  too  conscientious  in  his  work,  too  desirous 
of  success,  and  too  much  afraid  of  failure,  not  to  be 
perpetually  agitated  and  unhappy  during  the  period  of 
his  classical  studies.  A  low  rank  was  his  despair.  If 
he  had  not  been  able  to  commit  his  lesson  to  the  very 
last  word,  he  set  forth  for  the  college  trembling  with 
apprehension.  He  was  pursued  by  remorse  for  even 
the  slightest  failures,  and  always  thought  himself  to 
blame.  At  the  beginning  of  every  school  year,  he  was 
greatly  exercised  about  the  change  of  professors.  We 
learn  from  one  who  was  especially  interested  in  him  that 
he  made  one  leap  from  the  sixth  to  the  fourth  form,  and 
even  then  bore  off  the  first  prize  at  the  end  of  the  year. 
He  thoroughly  corrected  his  timidity  afterwards,  but 
never  overcame  his  tendency  to  nervous  anxiety. 

In  the  vacation  of  the  year  1822,  our  father  decided 
to  take  us  to  see  his  old  friends  in  the  vicinity  of  Ven- 
dome,  most  of  whom  were  unknown  to  us.  At  Char- 
tres,  a  burlesque  reception  had  been  prepared  for  us. 
We  descended  from  the  diligence  in  the  midst  of  a  group 


48  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

of  peasants,  who  were  apparently  stupefied  with  amaze- 
ment when  they  recognized  Monsieur  de  Pathay.  They 
asked  if  the  two  striplings  who  accompanied  him  were 
his  sons,  and  addressed  us  with  quirks  and  puns  which 
we  did  not  at  all  know  how  to  take.  But  M.  de  Pathay, 
more  acute  than  Pourceaugnac,  recognized  all  the  mum- 
mers, one  after  another,  except  one  wet-nurse,  very  lo- 
quacious and  diabolically  mischievous.  It  was  a  woman 
who  had  been  a  young  girl  when  he  left,  and  whom  he 
found  the  mother  of  a  family  at  the  end  of  a  dozen 
years.  We  regarded  this  merry  company  with  amaze- 
ment; but  they  all  played  their  parts  wonderfully  well, 
and  we  retained  a  high  opinion  of  the  wit  and  liveliness 
of  the  people  of  Chartres. 

At  Vendome  a  less  amusing  reception  awaited  us. 
Although  the  day  and  hour  of  our  arrival  had  been  an- 
nounced to  our  old  aunt  the  Canoness  de  Musset,  she 
professed  not  to  have  expected  us.  Her  little  house  in 
the  faubourg  Saint  Bienheurd,  with  a  tiny  garden  en- 
closed by  a  branch  of  the  river,  was  very  like  those  chill 
and  silent  interiors  which  Balzac  loved  to  describe. 
There  was  an  odor  about  it  of  penurious  antiquity  ;  and 
the  shutters,  perpetually  closed,  defended  the  mould 
and  saltpetre  on  the  walls  from  the  sunlight.  Three 
dogs  —  one  a  hideous  pug  —  replied  to  our  pull  at  the 
bell  by  inappeasable  barkings.  The  mistress  of  the 
house  received  us  grimly.  The  breakfast,  for  which  we 
waited  long,  was  so  meagre  that  the  good  lady  was 
ashamed  of  it;  and  she  condescended  to  add  a  cluster  of 
grapes,  as  sour  as  vinegar,  which  she  plucked  from  the 
trellis.     During  this  light  repast,  she  gave  us  clearly  to 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  49 

understand  that  she  could  have  dispensed  with  our  visit. 
At  intervals  the  brother  and  sister  became  red  with 
anger.  They  exchanged  a  few  flings  and  parted  coldly. 
In  1830,  when  the  noise  occasioned  by  the  publication 
of  the  "  Contes  d'Espagne  "  had  penetrated  even  that 
moist  retreat,  the  canoness  consoled  herself  by  a  reproach- 
ful letter.  She  had  always  blamed  her  brother  for  his 
excessive  love  of  literature ;  but  it  was  the  extreme  of 
humiliation  to  have  a  poet  for  a  nephew.  She  disowned 
and  disinherited  the  males  of  our  family,  on  account  of 
the  disgrace. 

A  few  days  of  freedom  under  the  old  trees  of  Bonne- 
aventure  effaced  the  painful  impression  made  by  our 
visit  to  the  canoness.  The  remainder  of  the  vacation 
was  divided  between  the  little  Chateau  de  Musset  — where 
was  then  living  a  cousin  of  ours,  who  was  also  a  devoted 
friend  —  and  the  ancient  manor-house  of  Cogners,  the 
hereditary  seat  of  the  head  of  the  family.  Cogners, 
elevated  to  a  marquisate,  during  the  regency  of  Anne  of 
Austria,  was  a  feudal  castle,  which  derived,  from  certain 
large  additions  made  in  the  seventeenth  century,  a  char- 
acter at  once  picturesque  and  majestic.  The  great 
winding  stone  staircase  is  a  blemish  to  both  stories.  The 
modern  portion,  where  the  state  apartments  are,  con- 
tains immense  rooms,  with  windows  of  an  extravagant 
height.  In  the  old  part,  the  rooms  are  irregular  in  shape, 
the  doors  narrow,  the  windows  have  deep  seats.  Be- 
tween the  two  layers  of  a  double  floor  in  one  of  the 
chambers  a  secret  retreat  had  been  contrived,  ap- 
proached by  a  trap-door,  concealed  under  a  huge,  high- 
posted,  canopied  bed.     Women  and  priests  had  sought 

4 


50  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

refuge  there  during  the  storms  of  the  Revolution.  One 
of  our  fondest  dreams  was  suddenly  realized ;  but 
rather  late,  as  often  happens  in  this  life.  Great  was 
Alfred's  joy  at  being  permitted  to  inhabit  this  chamber. 
Despite  the  fatigue  of  a  day  of  travel,  he  could  scarcely 
sleep  for  impatience  to  open  the  trap-door.  He  woke 
me  at  day-break,  and  we  went  down  into  the  mysterious 
entresol.  The  room  was  low,  but  perfectly  habitable. 
We  came  back  covered  with  spiders'-webs,  and  when  we 
discovered  the  subject  of  the  fine  tapestry  which  adorned 
our  room  to  be  Don  Quixote  taking  the  barber's  tin 
dish  for  the  helmet  of  Mambrino,  we  could  not  help 
laughing  at  our  expedition. 

Every  thing,  however,  at  the  Chiteau  of  Cogners,  even 
the  hospitable  and  patriarchal  manners  of  the  inhabi- 
tants, reminded  us  of  by-gone  times.  We  dined  at  two 
o'clock,  and  had  supper  at  eight.  The  traveller,  curq, 
physician,  or  military  man  who  happened  to  be  crossing 
the  country,  was  sure  of  a  plate  at  table,  and  room  in 
the  stables  for  his  horse.  In  the  evening,  we  gathered 
in  a  vast  hall  on  the  ground-floor,  very  dimly  lighted  in 
the  far  corners  by  a  candelabrum  with  two  arms,  placed 
on  a  large  stand  in  the  centre.  When  one  passed  near 
the  table,  a  gigantic  shadow  was  projected  upon  the 
walls.  While  we  waited  for  supper,  the  lord  of  the 
manor  read  aloud  the  lesson  for  the  day.  He  declaimed 
certain  passages  with  a  solemnity  truly  comic,  and  never 
failed  to  take  off  his  cap,  when  he  came  to  the  titles  of 
Monseigneur  the  Dauphin,  and  her  Royal  Highness, 
Madame.  It  was  no  satire  on  the  personages  named,  but 
merely  his  way  of  testifying  his  contempt  for  the  new 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  51 

power  of  the  press,  the  importance  of  which  he  had  not 
learned  to  understand  as  an  organ  of  public  opinion. 
The  Marquis  de  Musset  had  been  a  member  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies  for  1814.  His  son  served  in  the 
king's  body-guard,  and  his  son-in-law  in  the  guards  of 
Monsieur.  He  had  himself  served  under  the  old  regime. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen,  being  then  an  officer  in  an 
Auvergne  regiment,  his  fine  bearing  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  Louis  XV.,  who  made  him  step  out  of  the 
ranks  that  he  might  examine  him  more  closely.  His 
grand-nephews  could  only  admire  in  him  the  graces  of 
old  age  ;  but  he  was  straight  as  a  candle,  and  had  a  com- 
plexion of  singular  freshness,  prominent  eyes,  an  aqui- 
line nose,  and  very  handsome  legs.  He  held  his  head 
high  when  he  walked,  and  flung  his  feet  forward,  as  if 
making  his  entree  into  the  royal  drawing-room.  His 
grand  air,  his  correct  language,  and  the  fund  of  old 
stories  which  he  told  so  well,  inspired  us  with  a  mixt- 
ure of  curiosity  and  respect. 

The  marquis  had  had  in  his  life  one  deep  grief,  ag- 
gravated by  remorse,  of  which  he  never  spoke,  although 
time  and  religion  had  consoled  him.  He  had  lost  by 
his  own  fault  an  eldest  son  of  great  promise.  I  remem- 
ber that  the  subject  was  always  avoided  in  the  family 
when  the  children  were  present ;  still  we  had  heard 
vague  mention  of  our  cousin  Onesime,  his  fine  parts 
and  pleasant  disposition.  Later,  I  learned  the  story  of 
his  tragical  death.  His  father  had  conceived  the  unfor- 
tunate idea  of  placing  him,  at  fifteen,  in  the  Institution 
Liotard,  where  more  attention  was  paid  to  the  religious 
sentiments  of   the  pupils  than  to  their  intellectual  de- 


52  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

velopment.  On^sime  fancied  that  he  was  destined  for 
the  clerical  profession,  toward  which  he  felt  an  invinci- 
ble repugnance.  He  imparted  his  fears  to  my  father, 
and  besought  him  to  intercede  with  the  marquis  and 
induce  him  to  explain  his  intentions.  On  his  own  part, 
also,  the  youth  wrote  letter  after  letter ;  but  he  received 
only  stern  replies,  and  never  the  explanation  which  he 
desired.  The  father,  buried  in  his  province,  did  not  at 
all  comprehend  the  danger  of  these  vague  monitions. 
He  saw,  in  the  prayers  and  entreaties  of  his  son,  only  a 
lack  of  submission.  Ondsime,  never  doubting  that  he 
was  to  be  made  a  priest,  penned  a  last  desperate  letter. 
The  marquis  was  moved ;  but  he  decided  on  principle 
to  make  one  more  display,  at  least  in  words,  of  the  rigor 
of  paternal  authority.  In  a  reply  more  severe  than  those 
which  had  preceded  it,  he  offered  no  explanation  ;  but 
exacted  a  blind  obedience.  The  fatal  letter  was  hardly 
in  the  post-office,  before  the  father,  as  though  he  had 
divined  the  consequences  of  his  answer,  set  off  in  haste 
from  Cogners  for  Paris,  determined  to  withdraw  his  boy 
from  the  Institution  Liotard.  He  arrived  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  day  when  Ondsime  had  committed  suicide. 

Our  aged  aunt,  who  was  as  devotedly  pious  as  her 
husband,  had  in  the  end  consoled  herself  as  well  as  him 
for  this  terrible  misfortune.  She  was  an  excellent  lady, 
a  genuine  figure  of  the  past,  with  very  slight  knowledge 
of  the  world,  for  she  had  never  left  her  father's  ch§,teau 
when  she  removed  on  her  wedding-day  to  that  of  Cogners, 
whence  she  never  stirred.  Her  eldest  daughter,  who  had 
not  married,  devoted  herself  to  charity  on  a  great  scale. 
She  had  a  kitchen  and  a  dispensary  for  her  paupers, 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  53 

and  read  as  many  medical  books  as  the  parish  doctor. 
She  was  often  sent  for  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  At 
all  hours  and  in  all  weathers,  she  would  set  forth,  with 
her  bundle  under  her  arm,  to  carry  aid  to  the  sick. 
Neither  fatigue  nor  failing  health  could  stay  her  zeal  for 
a  single  day.  She  led  this  devoted  life  in  a  lonesome 
region,  with  no  reward  save  the  blessings  of  the  poor  of 
the  district,  until  the  day  when  her  strength  sufficed  only 
for  praying  to  the  God  whom  she  had  so  nobly  served. 
Our  good  parents  divided  their  caresses  equally  be- 
tween my  brother  and  me.  Our  uncle  had  an  evident 
partiality  for  Alfred  ;  and  so  our  aunt,  actuated  by  a  sense 
of  justice,  displayed  the  same  for  me.  While  the  hus- 
band gave  his  favorite  the  finest  fruit,  the  wife  slipped 
tidbits  into  my  plate.  This  milk-and-honey  regimen 
was  very  satisfactory  to  hungry  school-boys ;  and,  when- 
ever we  were  asked  where  we  wanted  to  spend  our  vaca- 
tion, we  clamored  to  go  back  to  Uncle  De  Musset's.  In 
1824  we  did  so ;  but  this  time  an  accident,  of  which  any 
other  child  than  my  brother  would  not  have  made  great 
account,  mingled  a  fearful  association  with  the  delights 
of  the  castle  of  Cogners.  Alfred  was  wild  to  go  out 
hunting  for  the  first  time.  A  small  single-barrelled  shot- 
gun was  procured  for  him  ;  and,  under  the  keeper's  direc- 
tion, he  was  permitted  to  kill  rabbits  in  the  warren.  One 
morning  he  was  walking  behind  me,  carrying  under  his 
arm  the  gun  which  he  had  just  loaded,  and  the  muzzle 
of  which  was  pointed  at  my  heels.  The  gun  was  worth- 
less, the  trigger  was  worn  out,  and  somehow  it  went  off, 
the  charge  of  lead  making  a  hole  in  the  ground  close  to 
my  right  foot.     I  turned  at  the  noise  \  and,  across  a  puff 


54  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

of  smoke,  I  saw  my  brother  waver  and  fall.  He  had  a 
nervous  attack,  followed  by  fever.  The  illness  was 
short ;  but  his  passion  for  the  chase  was  much  dimin- 
ished, his  visit  at  Cogners  was  spoiled,  and  the  number 
of  the  year,  1824,  was  always  replaced  by  the  periphrasis, 
—  "  the  year  when  I  almost  killed  my  brother." 

Alfred  was  then  in  his  fourteenth  year,  and  so  far  ad- 
vanced in  his  studies  that  he  might  have  graduated  at 
fifteen,  if  he  had  not  taken  a  double  course  in  philoso- 
phy. The  Due  de  Chartres,  who  was  his  classmate,  had 
received  permission  from  his  father,  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
to  invite  some  of  his  school-fellows  to  the  chateau  of 
Neuilly  on  holidays.  The  best  scholar  in  the  class  was, 
of  course,  among  the  invited  guests.  He  found  favor 
with  all  the  Orleans  family ;  especially  with  the  mother 
of  the  young  princes,  who  charged  her  son  not  to  for- 
get the  little  blond.  It  was  a  needless  injunction.  De 
Chartres,  as  he  was  called  at  school,  had  a  marked  par- 
tiality for  Alfred,  and  during  recitation  used  to  write 
him  heaps  of  billets  upon  bits  of  paper.  They  are  mostly 
invitations  to  dine  at  Neuilly  ;  but  their  tone  is  very  free. 
I  will  quote  the  last  only,  which  is  in  reply  to  a  farewell 
note  that  the  young  prince  thought  too  ceremonious. 

"This  is  the  last  day  that  I  shall  come  to  school.  As  we 
shall  not  see  one  another  for  some  time,  I  should  be  very 
much  obliged  if  you  would  write  to  me.  We  are  going  on 
the  2 1st,  and  shall  not  come  back  before  the  9th  of  August. 
We  are  going  on  a  rambling  tour  to  Auvergne,  and  Savoy, 
and  the  banks  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva.  Adieu,  and  ever 
yours. 

"De  Chartres. 

"  P.  S.     I  wanted  something  besides  your  respects." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  55 

During  the  trip  here  mentioned,  the  prince  addressed 
to  his  old  school-fellow  two  long  letters.  The  first,  dated 
at  Clermont-Ferrand,  contains  a  detailed  description 
of  the  mountains  of  Auvergne.  The  other  is  the  story 
of  an  excursion  into  Switzerland,  told  with  all  the  art- 
lessness  of  youth.  But  I  find  in  the  same  bundle  of 
papers  still  another  letter,  —  much  more  original,  and 
called  for,th  by  some  ebullition  of  friendly  and  familiar 
mirth.  I  think  that  this  last  is  worth  publishing.  It  is 
dated  Sept.  14,  1826. 

**My  dear  Friend,  —  It  is  only  because  I  had  noth- 
ing to  say,  that  I  have  delayed  writing  to  you  so  long. 
Nine  study-hours  —  varied  by  horseback  rides,  and  occa- 
sional stupid  family  parties  at  Montmorency,  or  the  fair  of 
Loges  —  do  not  offer  much  material  for  a  letter.  But  to- 
day I  have  performed  a  splendid  feat,  and  I  must  tell  you 
about  it. 

"  We  went  to  the  fair  at  Saint  Cloud ;  and  after  we  had 
been  weighed,  and  had  gone  the  round  of  the  twenty-five-sou 
shops,  and  bought  whatever  we  fancied,  and  eaten  quantities 
of  wafers,  we  went  into  the  equestrian  circus  of  M.  le  Che- 
valier Joanny.  There  were  about  a  hundred  persons  present. 
M.  le  ChevaHer  Joanny,  being  five  feet  and  eight  inches  high, 
came  out  in  an  old  guardsman's  uniform,  made  for  a  man  of 
about  five  feet ;  so  that  the  bottom  of  the  waist  was  in 
the  middle  of  his  back.  He  had  an  embroidered  waistcoat 
underneath,  and  his  pantaloons  were  made  to  imitate  Turkish 
trowsers.  Then  began  a  terrific  noise,  which  was  the  over- 
ture. The  inside  orchestra  —  for,  while  the  circus  perform- 
ance went  on,  they  were  all  the  time  summoning  spectators 
outside  with  trumpets  —  the  inside  orchestra  consisted  of  six 
horns,  all  out  of  tune ;  and  a  trombone,  played  by  a  very 
young  and  very  pretty  woman.  A  Chinaman  leaped  into  the 
ring.     He  had  the  top  of  a  parasol  for  a  hat,   very  dirty 


56  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

drawers  for  breeches,  and  other  things  to  correspond.     As 
for  the  other  performers,  Ab  uno  disce  omnes. 

"  At  last,  after  a  great  number  of  feats  and  gambols,  they 
all  left  the  ring  to  make  way  for  a  monstrous  elephant, 
who  was  destined  to  be  the  theatre  of  my  exploit.  The ' 
animal  was  very  intelligent,  and  performed  a  number  of 
feats  at  the  command  of  his  driver.  When  he  was  ordered 
to  salute  the  company,  M.  le  Chevalier  Joanny  explained 
to  us  that  in  India,  'at  sunrise,  these  creatures  by  a  sort  of 
religious  instinct  salute  the  majestic  orb  of  day.'  What  the 
devil  has  religion  to  do  with  it  ? 

"  When  the  elephant  took  a  broom  to  sweep  the  hall,  M.  le 
Chevalier,  who  accompanied  every  act  of  the  clumsy  but 
knowing  animal  by  some  judicious  reflection,  informed  us 
that,  in  India,  little  ladies  of  rank  employ  these  creatures  as 
housemaids  to  clean  their  boudoirs.  Finally,  he  invited  all 
who  were  so  disposed  to  mount  upon  the  elephant's  back. 
Nobody  stirred.  Seeing  the  general  backwardness,  I  deter- 
mined to  set  an  example  ;  so  I  climbed  upon  the  creature's 
back,  along  with  the  keeper  and  my  brother  Joinville.  None 
of  the  spectators  cared  to  follow  us.  As  we  passed  the 
orchestra,  I  gravely  removed  my  hat ;  and  the  musicians,  not 
to  be  outdone  in  politeness,  struck  up  the  air,  —  'Ou  peut- 
on  etre  mieux.' 

"  Such,  my  dear  friend,  was  the  trait  of  heroism  of  which  I 
wished  to  inform  you,  confident  that  you  would  appreciate 
it  at  its  true  worth. 

"Ferdinand,  P.  d'Orleans." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  57 


IV. 


'TT^HUS  far  we  have  seen  in  Alfred  de  Musset  only  a 
-*-  precocious  child  of  vivid  imagination,  and  an  assid- 
uous pupil,  receiving  with  docility  all  that  was  taught 
him.  But,  in  1826,  he  began  to  give  unusual  signs  of 
strength  and  independence  of  mind.  He  had  been 
taught  logic,  analysis,  and  ratiocination  ;  and  he  began 
to  reason.  Often  after  the  recitation  in  philosophy, 
when  he  had  heard  the  lesson  with  attention,  he  would 
shake  his  head,  and  venture  to  say,  "It  does  not  sat- 
isfy me."  He  would  then  review  in  a  hundred  different 
ways  the  question  under  discussion,  probe  it  to  the  bot- 
tom, and  come  to  a  fresh  conclusion.  His  compositions 
were  full  of  his  aspirations  after  truth.  The  professor  — 
an  excellent  man,  but  extremely  orthodox — was  dis- 
turbed that  his  scholastic  metaphysics  were  not  received 
as  Gospel-truth  by  his  best  scholar.  He  had,  however, 
the  good  sense  not  to  be  angry.  If  only  his  fundamen- 
tal principles  were  accepted,  he  would  allow  discussion 
of  subordinate  points.  More  than  once,  he  gave  a  lesson 
to  the  whole  class  on  the  duties  of  the  scholar.  In  the 
month  of  July,  1827,  when  Alfred  had  competed  for  the 
inter-collegiate  prize,  M.  Cardaillac  and  another  mem- 
ber of  the  university  board  came  and  told  our  father 
that  his  son  would  in  all  probability  obtain  the  highest 
prize.  The  subject  given  out  was  a  Latin  dissertation 
on  the  Origin  of  Emotion.   The  essay  of  Alfred  de  Musset 


58  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

had  at  once  been  adjudged  the  best,  both  in  thought 
and  manner ;  but  the  religious  side  of  the  question  had 
appeared  to  be  insufficiently  developed.  Another  pupil, 
whose  work  showed  less  talent,  had  dwelt  more  upon 
this  important  point ;  so  that  the  opinions  of  the  exami- 
ners were  equally  divided.  The  head-master  of  the 
university  —  who  was  also  Bishop  of  Hermopolis  —  had 
caused  the  scale  to  incline  toward  the  lad  who  seemed 
more  devout.  It  could  hardly  have  been  otherwise 
under  the  reign  of  Charles  X.  Some  years  later,  the 
first  prize  was  given  to  Alfred ;  but  now  he  only  ob- 
tained the  second.  At  the  moment  of  distribution, 
Monseigneur  d'Hermopolis  smiled  to  see  mount  the 
platform  a  little  blond  of  sixteen,  with  a  head  so  small 
that  the  crown  dropped  about  his  neck. 

A  prize  is  of  no  great  importance,  save  as  a  test  of 
collegiate  success.  The  works  of  Alfred  de  Musset 
show  that  he  did  not  stop  there  in  the  study  of  philoso- 
phy, but  pushed  his  metaphysical  researches  very  far. 
The  attentive  reader  knows  that  the  thinker  in  him  is 
always  abreast  of  the  poet.*  It  is  important,  however, 
to  a  clear  understanding  of  the  man,  that  we  should 
examine  his  mode  of  procedure  in  the  search  for  truth. 
When  he  came  in  contact  with  a  great  mind,  he  began 
by  conscientiously  taking  the  place  of  a  learner,  in  order 
thoroughly  to  fathom  the  doctrine  or  the  system.     He 

'  M.  Victor  de  Laprade,  in  the  discourse  on  Alfred's  reception  by  the 
French  Academy,  which  he  had  the  distinguished  honor  to  pronounce,  let 
fall  in  the  course  of  his  eulogium,  whether  in  carelessness  or  levity,  the 
strange  remark,  "  Alfred  de  Musset  obtained,  if  you  can  believe  it,  the 
phDosophic  prize!"  It  was  astonishing  to  nobodv  but  M.  Victor  de 
Laprade. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  59 

adopted  it.  He  was  ready  to  profess  and  even  practise 
it.  But  presently  his  reason  was  outraged  upon  some 
point:  doubts  arose,  and  the  disciple  became  first 
judge  and  then  dissenter.  It  was  thus  that  I  saw  him 
travel  by  successive  stages  from  Descartes  to  Spinoza, 
then  to  the  new  philosophies  of  Cabanis  and  Maine  de 
Biran,  arriving  finally  at  that  haven  where  he  found  the 
"  Espoir  en  Dieu."  In  his  search  for  the  beautiful  he 
pursued  the  same  method.  He  began  by  enjoying 
whatever  pleased  him,  yielding  himself  with  ardor  to 
the  delight  of  enthusiasm,  and  he  ended  by  examination 
and  exact  appreciation.  In  this  twofold  exercise  of 
seemingly  incompatible  faculties,  —  namely,  enthusiasm 
and  critical  penetration,  —  he  acquired,  not  in  litera- 
ture only,  but  in  all  the  arts,  a  soundness  of  judgment 
which,  if  he  had  had  nothing  else  to  do,  would  have 
made  him  one  of  the  foremost  critics  of  his  time. 

In  pursuance  of  the  new  plan  of  study  which  he  had 
marked  out  for  himself,  Alfred  began  paying  special 
attention  to  the  reading  of  foreign  authors,  drawing, 
music,  and  law.  Repelled  by  the  dryness  of  the  law, 
he  had  a  passing  fancy  for  medicine ;  but  M.  B^rard's 
lessons  in  descriptive  anatomy,  and  the  dissection  of 
human  bodies,  inspired  him  with  an  insurmountable 
disgust.  His  father's  one  fear  was  that  he  would  be  an 
idler,  and  yet  he  did  not  pr€ss  him  to  choose  a  profes- 
sion. It  was  the  student  himself  who  was  alarmed  by 
the  discovery  that  he  had  no  taste  for  either  of  the  two 
more  distinguished  of  the  learned  professions.  He  shut 
himself  up  in  his  own  room,  and  remained  there  several 
days,  a  prey  to  the  most  melancholy  reflections ;  and, 


6o  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

when  I  inquired  the  cause  of  his  sombre  mood,  his 
answer  was,  "  I  shall  never  be  good  for  any  thing. 
I  shall  never  practise  any  profession.  Humanity  in 
general  is  only  too  insignificant  on  this  grain  of  sand 
where  we  live  ?  I  shall  certainly  never  consent  to  be 
any  particular  kind  of  man." 

He  had  no  suspicion  that  he  would,  ere  long,  be 
classed  among  men  so  rare  that  not  more  than  three  or 
four  of  them  appear  in  a  centur}^-.  His  mortification 
was  appeased  when  his  drawing-master,  amazed  at  his 
progress,  told  him  that  he  might  be  a  painter  if  he  chose. 
At  the  notion  that  he  might,  after  all,  have  a  vocation, 
his  courage  revived.  He  spent  his  mornings  in  the 
Louvre,  and  his  portfolios  filled  with  sketches.-^  This 
passion  for  painting  was,  however,  only  a  digression 
with  which  Nature  amused  herself,  before  revealing  the 
way  by  which  she  was  to  lead  him. 

In  the  spring  of  1828,  our  mother  rented  a  small  suite 
of  rooms  in  a  very  large  house  at  Auteuil.  Chance  gave 
us  for  a  neighbor  M.  M^lesville,  and  charming  relations 
sprang  up  between  his  family  and  ours.  We  acted 
comedies  and  improvised  charades.  We  had  sometimes 
for  spectators  the  elder  Brazier  and  M.  Scribe,  and 
Alfred  enjoyed  these  reunions  intensely.  He  was  off 
to  Paris  early  in  the  morning  to  pursue  his  studies,  and 

1  Most  of  these  sketches,  among  which  were  some  original  designs,  were 
destroyed  by  Alfred  himself.  His  friends  often  cut  pages  out  of  his  album. 
I  have  still  two  finished  drawings.  One  is  a  full-length  portrait  of  Louise 
Bouvier,  —  a  celebrated  thief,  detained  in  custody  at  Clermont ;  the  other  a 
head  of  Lord  Byron.  Mme.  Maxime  Jaubert  has  about  fifty  of  Alfred  de 
Musset's  drawings.  An  album  full  of  caricatures  was  given  me  by  a  lady 
cousin  of  mine,  with  whom  he  spent  a  month  in  1842. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  6i 

work  in  a  studio ;  but  lie  returned  to  Auteuil  for  dinner, 
often  on  foot  by  the  woodland  alleys  of  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  and  with  no  companion  save  a  book.  The 
day  when  he  had  taken  Andrd  de  Chenier's  little  volume 
to  read  by  the  way,  he  arrived  in  the  country  later  than 
usual.  Under  the  spell  of  that  elegiac  poetry,  he  had 
chosen  the  longest  way.  From  delighting  to  re-read  and 
recite  verses  which  one  loves  to  aspiring  to  compose  the 
like,  there  is  but  a  step ;  and  Alfred  did  not  resist  the 
temptation.  He  composed  an  elegy  which  he  has  not 
thought  it  worth  while  to  preserve,  but  it  began  thus, — 

"  II  vint  sur  les  figuiers  une  vierge  d'Atli^nes 
Douce  et  blanche,  puiser  I'eau  pure  des  fontaines, 
De  marbre  pour  les  bras,  d'dbene  pour  les  yeux. 
Son  p&re  est  Nodmon  de  Cr&te,  aimd  des  dieux  ; 
Elle,  faible  et  revant,  mit  I'amphore  sculptde, 
Sous  les  lions  d'airain,  p^re  de  I'eau  vantde, 
Et  ft^conds  en  cristal  sonore  et  turbulent,"  &c. 

A  youth  came  to  the  same  fountain  driving  horses  and 
mules,  and  while  the  animals  crowded  about  the  basin, 
the  youth  asked  the  maiden  if  she  were  the  nymph  of 
the  spring.  When  he  discovered  that  she  was  a  mere 
mortal,  he  made  love  to  her  and  invited  her  to  share  his 
home,  of  which  he  gave  a  poetic  description.  The 
maiden,  whom  her  father  had  devoted  to  the  worship  of 
Diana,  rejected  the  young  man's  proposals  at  first,  but 
finally  yielded.  Then  the  jealous  goddess  pronounced 
a  curse  upon  her,  and  the  faithless  priestess  died  just  as 
the  morning  sun  appeared  above  the  horizon.  This 
piece,  which  contained  no  less  than  a  hundred  stanzas, 
was  finished  in  two  days,  or  rather  in  two  walks,  and 


62  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

with  the  exception  of  a  song  composed  at  the  age  of 
fourteen  for  his  mother's  birthday,  these  are  the  first 
verses  which  Alfred  ever  wrote. 

The  history  of  his  second  attempt  belongs  to  the  age  of 
romanticism,  and  the  great  civil  war  in  French  letters. 
The  classics  yet  held  possession  of  the  stage,  where  they 
defended  themselves  as  in  a  redoubt :  but  the  "  Henry 
III."  of  Alexander  Dumas  was  already  written,  "  Marion 
Delorme  "  was  on  the  stocks,  and  "  Cromwell "  published  ; 
and  the  famous  preface  to  the  latter  work,  in  which  the 
author  had  created  a  new  school  of  poetry,  had  caused  a 
fermentation  in  many  a  youthful  brain.  Even  before  he 
had  finished  his  studies,  Alfred  de  Musset  had  been 
introduced,  by  his  friend  and  school-fellow  Paul  Foucher, 
at  the  house  of  Victor  Hugo.  There  he  had  seen  MM. 
Alfred  de  Vigny,  Prosper  Merimde,  Sainte-Beuve,  Emile, 
and  Antony  Deschamps,  Louis  Boulanger,  &c.  All  of 
these  had  already  given  proofs  of  genius,  and  won 
more  or  less  reputation.  The  time  was  spent  in  read- 
ings and  literary  conversations,  in  which  everybody  ap- 
peared to  be  of  the  same  mind,  although  at  heart  they 
were  often  otherwise.  Alfred  did  not  try  to  resist  the 
contagious  enthusiasm  which  one  breathed  in  the  very 
air  of  the  Cdnacle.  He  soon  became  a  neophyte  in 
the  new  church,  and  was  permitted  to  join  the  evening 
walks  when  they  went  to  see  the  sunset,  or  to  enjoy  the 
view  of  old  Paris  from  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame.  On 
the  morning  after  a  meeting,  where  a  good  many  ballads 
had  doubtless  been  recited,  the  young  listener  pacing 
along  under  the  trees  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and 
haunted  by  the  musical  rhythm  which  still  sounded  in 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  63 

his  ears,  undertook  to  compose,  first  a  ballad,  and  then 
a  short  romantic  drama,  both  of  which  he  afterward 
condemned  to  the  flames.  The  scene  was  laid  in  Spain, 
in  the  castle  of  the  old  Sanchez  de  Guadarra.  The 
daughter  of  this  nobleman  was  singing  one  night  at 
her  window  a  plaintive  song.  Agnes  had  been  twice 
affianced. 

"  Una  main  dans  sa  main,  deux  fois  s'dtait  glac^e,' 
Et,  vierge,  elle  dtait  veuve,  en  deuil  de  deux  dpoux." 

The  two  youths  to  whom  she  had  been  promised  had 
died  on  the  day  after  their  betrothal.  Her  father  had 
just  proposed  to  her  a  third  husband,  Don  Carlos,  a 
brilliant  cavalier,  young  and  valiant.  Old  Don  Sanchez 
had  a  high  opinion  of  Don  Carlos,  and  thus  expressed 
his  preference  for  the  military  profession  :  — 

•'  Homme  portant  un  casque  en  vaut  deux  k  chapeau, 
Quatre  portant  bonnet,  douze  portant  perruque ; 
Et  vingt-quatre  portant  tonsure  sur  la  nuque."  * 

The  brilliant  Don  Carlos  arrived  with  his  long  sword 
and  his  gold  spurs.  Agnes  allowed  herself  to  be  be- 
trothed for  the  third  time.  During  the  ceremony,  a 
monk  was  saying  his  prayers  in  a  corner.  It  was  Don 
Juan,  the  brother  of  Carlos,  a  gloomy  and  mysterious 
person,  who  spoke  seldom  and  always  in  vague  prophetic 
terms,  — 

"  And  ever  gazed  beyond  the  horizon's  line." 

1  She  had  twice  held  a  hand  which  turned  to  ice  in  her  grasp.  She  was 
a  virgin  and  yet  a  widow,  —  in  mourning  for  two  husbands. 

2  A  man  in  a  helmet  is  worth  two  in  a  hat,  four  in  a  student's  cap,  twelve 
in  a  periwig,  and  twenty-four  vrith  the  tonsure. 


64  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Don  Juan  was  apparently  indifferent  to  what  went  on 
around  him.  But,  when  the  ceremony  was  over,  he  re- 
quested a  moment's  conversation  with  Don  Carlos ;  and 
the  two  were  left  together.  The  monk  then  confessed 
his  own  love  for  Agnes,  and  that  he  had  poisoned  her 
two  former  lovers.  Forbidden  by  his  vows  to  aspire  to 
her  hand,  he  could  not  suffer  her  to  belong  to  another 
man.  He  begged  Don  Carlos  to  give  up  the  marriage ; 
and,  his  prayer  proving  futile,  the  monk  seized  a  sword 
suspended  on  the  wall,  turned  back  the  sleeves  of  his 
frock,  fought  his  rival  and  slew  him  briskly,  after  the 
manner  of  the  romantic  school,  and  subsequently  killed 
himself,  while  Agnes  went  into  a  convent. 

I  need  not  say  where  the  novice  of  seventeen  found 
the  subject,  and  whence  he  adopted  the  style  of  this 
performance.  We  detect  the  influence  of  the  president 
of  the  Cdnacle,  and  some  of  the  verses  need  not  have 
been  disowned  by  the  master  himself.  It  should  be  ob- 
served that  "  Hernani "  had  not  then  seen  the  light,  and 
that  romantic  Spain  had  but  just  been  discovered  by 
M.  Merimde. 

A  tri-weekly  journal  of  the  narrowest  dimensions  was 
then  appearing  at  Dijon,  under  the  name  of  the  "  Pro- 
vincial." Paul  Foucher,  who  knew  one  of  the  editors, 
had  published  some  of  his  own  verses  in  this  newspaper ; 
and  he  proposed  to  submit,  to  the  same  editor  certain 
stanzas  by  another  poet,  as  young  and  obscure  as  him- 
self, who  dared  not  as  yet  give  his  name.  Sustained  by 
Paul  Foucher's  recommendation,  the  youthful  poet  sent 
to  the  Dijon  journal  a  ballad  composed  expressly  for. 
the  "  Provincial."     This  fragment,  entitled  "  A  Dream," 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  65 

appeared  in  the  number  for  August  31,  1828,  with  no 
signature  but  the  initials  A.  D.  M.  It  was  in  tlie  woods 
of  Auteuil  that  the  blond  poet  dreamed  out  this  bit  of 
pleasantry.  Paul  Foucher's  editorial  friend,  in  an  intro- 
ductory note  of  twenty  lines,  asked  pardon  of  the 
readers  of  the  "  Provincial "  for  offering  to  them  so 
excessively  romantic  a  composition  ;  but  the  editor-in- 
chief,  M.  Charles  Brugnot,  declared  in  a  foot-note  that 
this  deprecatory  preface  was  none  of  his,  and  that  he 
had  no  favors  to  ask  for  a  piece  of  fanciful  writing, 
which  he  considered  charming.  The  infant  poet  was 
already  the  subject  of  a  controversy  between  the  two 
editors,  who  quarrelled  in  the  pages  of  their  own  journal. 
Alfred,  however,  was  overjoyed  to  receive  the  number  of 
the  journal  which  contained  his  first  printed  verses. 
Many  a  time  since  then  his  thoughts  have  awakened  the 
groanings  of  the  press ;  but  the  modest  Dijon  news- 
paper, preserved  with  religious  care,  has  always  held  an 
honorable  place  among  his  papers. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1828,  the  literary  war  was 
becoming  livelier  day  by  day.  The  louder  the  classical 
camp  cried  "  barbarism,"  the  more  audacious  did  the 
romanticists  become.  Happy  time,  when  men  were 
ready  to  fight  for  a  sonnet,  a  fugitive  verse,  or  a  hemi- 
stich !  Like  a  soldier  who  sees  his  friends  rushing  into 
action,  Alfred  felt  possessed  by  the  longing  to  try  his 
strength.  One  morning  he  went  and  awoke  M.  Sainte- 
Beuve  with  the  laughing  announcement,  "  I  have  been 
making  verses  too!"  M.  Sainte-Beuve  was  not  the 
man  to  make  a  mistake  about  the  worth  of  these 
attempts,  and  the  future  reserved  for  their  author.     A 

5 


66  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

few  days  later,  he  wrote  to  one  of  his  friends,  "We 
have  a  child  of  genius  among  us."  Alfred  now  deter- 
mined to  have  his  pieces  read  at  the  C^nacle.  The 
elegy  was  a  good  deal  applauded,  but  the  poem  of 
"  Agnes  "  excited  positive  enthusiasm.  The  immense  dif- 
ference in  style  and  movement  between  these  two  works 
could  not  fail  to  be  remarked  by  so  intelligent  an 
audience.  This  versatility  of  talent  gave  the  highest 
possible  idea  of  the  powers  of  the  new  recruit  to  the 
phalanx.  It  might  have  been  foreseen  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  serve  long  under  any  banner  what- 
ever, and  that  he  would  soon  break  ranks  and  follow  his 
own  fancy ;  but,  as  yet,  nobody  dreamed  of  that. 
Among  other  good  traits,  the  members  of  the  Cdnacle 
had  this  admirable  quality,  that  they  knew  not  envy,  and 
never  stinted  their  praise  of  young  aspirants.  Alfred 
was  welcomed  on  all  sides. 

But,  despite  these  encouragements,  the  debutant  would 
not  yet  allow  that  he  was  a  poet.  "  If  I  were  to  mount 
the  scaffold  to-morrow,"  he  said  to  his  brother,  "  I  might 
well  strike  my  forehead,  and  repeat  the  words  of  Andrd 
Chenier,  '  I  feel  that  I  had  something  here ' ;  but  they 
are  doing  me  poor  service  by  assuring  me  that  I  am  a 
great  man.  The  public  and  posterity  alone  can  confer 
that  rank." 

In  order  to  have  more  verses  to  recite  to  his  friends, 
he  composed  successively  "  Le  Lever,"  "  L'Andalouse," 
"  Charles  Quint  k  Saint  Just,"  "  Don  Paez,"  "  Les 
Marrons  du  Feu,"  and  "  Portia."  Then  came  the  "  Bal- 
lade "k  la  Lune ;"  yet  no  symptom  was  observed  of  a 
revolution  in  his  ideas,  and  great  was  the   amusement 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  6y 

excited  by  that  carnival  of  wit.  For  even  parodies  were 
admitted  by  the  C^nacle,  and  there  was  intolerance  of 
nothing  but  classical  works.  No  one  dreamed  that  this 
lad  had  completely  fathomed  all  the  doctrines  discussed 
in  his  hearing,  and  adopted  an  independent  course  ;  and 
that  he  was  neither  to  accept  advice  nor  follow  any 
model,  from  the  day  when,  after  deep  reflection  and  long 
listening  to  the  poetry  of  others,  he  uttered  Correggio's 
cry,  "  I,  too,  am  a  poet !  " 

While  his  muse  yet  lured  him  to  the  woods  of  Auteuil, 
the  age  of  manhood  arrived.  On  his  first  appearance  in 
society  the  winter  before,  women  had  paid  no  attention 
whatever  to  the  little  fellow,  who  conscientiously  exe- 
cuted the  steps  which  his  dancing-master  had  taught 
him  ;  but  a  few  months  later,  his  figure  developed,  and 
he  lost  his  boyish  air  and  his  timid  bearing.  His 
countenance  assumed  a  remarkable  expression  of  pride 
and  assurance,  and  his  glance  became  steady,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  so  inquisitive  and  piercing  that  it  was 
not  easy  to  meet.  The  first  woman  who  detected  the 
change  was  a  lady  of  much  talent ;  a  fine  musician, 
coquettish,  and  satirical,  but  attacked  by  an  incurable 
affection  of  the  chest.  To  visit  her  in  the  country, 
whither  she  continually  invited  him  by  notes  of  prudent 
brevity,  Alfred  missed  his  rendezvous  with  the  Muses, 
and  traversed  the  sterile  plain  of  Saint  Denis.  When  he 
saw  that  this  lady  did  not  regard  him  quite  the  same  as 
formerly,  while  still  she  affected  to  treat  him  like  a 
child,  the  manoeuvre  amazed  him.  It  was  some  time 
before  he  learned  that  advantage  had  been  taken  of  his 
innocence,  and  that  he  had  been  made  to  play  the  part 


68  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

of  Fortunio.  The  lady  was  provided  with  a  Clavaroche ; 
but  she  had  not  the  heart  of  Jacqueline.  She  remained 
insensible  to  the  tender  reproaches  of  the  youth  whom 
she  cruelly  mocked.  He  stopped  his  visits  without  be- 
traying either  anger  or  scorn.  Another  lady  who  had 
a  fancy  for  him  tried  to  console  him  ;  and  when  one 
morning  I  observed  him  in  spurs,  and  a  tall  hat  inclin- 
ing to  the  right  side,  while  a  long  lock  of  hair  waved  on 
the  left,  I  perceived  by  these  cavalier  airs  that  his 
vanity  was   safe. 

Seven  years  later  the  memory  of  his  first  adventure 
awoke,  when  Alfred  de  Musset  thought  himself  taken  in 
a  similar  snare.  He  was  mistaken  this  time  ;  but  the 
transient  suspicion  produced  the  "Chandelier,"  —  in  my 
opinion,  his  most  perfect  comedy,  and  one  of  the  best  pro- 
ductions of  the  French  spirit  since  the  days  of  Moliere. 

In  the  last  days  of  1828,  as  we  were  coming  out  of  a 
ball-room,  where  Alfred  had  displayed  a  keen  ardor  of 
enjoyment.  Prosper  Chalas,  editor  of  the  "Temps"  and 
the  "Pandora,"  a  clever  fellow  with  some  knowledge  of 
mankind,  seized  my  arm  in  the  street,  and  whispered 
in  my  ear, — 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  your  brother  is  destined  to 
become  a  great  poet ;  but  when  I  see  his  face,  his  de- 
light in  the  pleasures  of  society,  that  air  of  his  like  that 
of  an  escaped  colt,  the  looks  which  he  gives  women 
and  the  looks  which  they  give  him,  I  am  afraid  of  the 
Delilahs  for  him." 

The  presentiment  was  realized.  The  Delilahs  came, 
but  they  only  made  him  the  greater  poet. 


PART     SECOND. 

From  1829  to  1836. 


V. 


T)ESIDE  the  danger  hinted  at  by  Prosper  Chalas, 
-*--'  Alfred  de  Musset  had  freely  run  all  sorts  of  other 
risks  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  and  his  position  was  defined. 
He  had  been  intimate  with  young  folk  who  were  richer 
than  he,  and  he  had  wished  to  adopt  their  ways  of  life. 
The  first  tailors  in  Paris  had  alone  the  privilege  of  ap- 
proaching his  person,  and  he  gave  them  employment. 
Horseback  exercise  was  in  fashion  among  his  friends, 
and  he  hired  horses.  They  played  high,  and  so  did  he. 
They  turned  night  into  day,  and  he  kept  vigil.  But  he 
had  a  constitution  like  steel,  and  incredible  cerebral  ac- 
tivity ;  and  he  often  wrote  fifty  verses  after  his  return 
from  a  supper-party.  That  which  would  have  been  ex- 
cess for  many  people  was  really  only  exercise  for  him. 
When  I  spoke  to  him  of  the  perils  of  bouillote^  and  of 
the  terrible  day  when  the  tailor  would  bring  in  the  bill 
for  his  new  clothes,  he  replied  :  — 

"Just  because  I  am  young  I  want  to  know  every  thing. 
I  want  to  learn  by  experience  and  not  by  hearsay.  I 
feel  as  if  there  were  two  men  in  me,  —  one  acting,  and 
the  other  observing.  If  the  first  does  a  silly  thing,  the 
other  will  profit  by  it.  Sooner  or  later,  please  God,  I 
will  pay  the  tailor.  I  play,  but  I  am  not  a  gambler; 
and  when  I  lose  money,  the  lesson  is  worth  all  the  re- 
proofs in  the  world." 

1  A  game  at  cards. 


72  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Occasionally,  to  be  sure,  he  had  sombre  mornings  and 
evenings  of  vain  regret.  On  these  days  of  wretched- 
ness, the  poet  liked  to  compose  a  costume  correspond- 
ing with  the  situation.  Out  of  the  depths  of  a  closet  he 
would  drag  an  old  yellow  coachman's  coat  with  six  capes, 
large  enough  to  go  round  him  three  times.  Thus  muffled, 
he  would  lie  down  upon  the  floor  of  his  room,  and  hum 
in  a  lamentable  voice  some  ancient  air,  contemporary 
with  the  coat.  Whenever  I  found  him  in  this  penitential 
garment,  and  in  a  melodramatic  attitude,  I  knew  that  the 
cards  had  proved  intractable.  The  moment  I  opened 
my  lips  to  address  him,  "  Let  me  alone,"  he  would  say, 
covering  up  his  face.  "Leave  me  to  my  rags  and  my 
despair." 

But  when  evening  arrived  he  would  put  off  his  rags 
and  don  his  finest  clothes.  The  mere  change  of  raiment 
sufficed  to  turn  the  current  of  his  thoughts ;  and  he  would 
set  forth  on  a  tour  of  Parisian  drawing-rooms,  where  the 
pleasures  of  the  world  caused  him  to  forget  his  reverses 
at  play.  Either  because  a  ball-room  made  a  singular 
impression  upon  him,  or  owing  to  some  peculiarity  con- 
nected with  his  taste  for  painting,  he  remembered  with 
astonishing  accuracy  the  order  in  which  the  ladies  had 
been  seated,  the  colors  and  fashion  of  their  dress,  the 
way  their  hair  was  arranged.  Moreover,  luxury  gave 
him  a  kind  of  intoxication.  He  admired  bright  lights, 
laces,  and  jewels,  as  a  child  admires  them.  To  dance 
with  a  real  marquise,  in  real  diamonds,  in  a  vast  saloon 
as  light  as  day,  seemed  to  him  the  summit  of  bliss.  He 
had  the  same  childish  admiration  for  people  who  make 
a  show  of  any  kind.     He  could  forgive  Alexander  for 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  73 

having  burned  Persepolis  to  amuse  a  courtesan.  He 
liked  Sylla  because  he  was  fortunate.  Heliogabalus 
did  not  displease  him  at  a  distance  in  the  robes  of  a 
priest  of  the  Sun ;  and  even  Caesar  Borgia  found  some 
favor  with  him  on  the  score  of  his  mule  shod  with  gold. 
I  did  not  scruple  to  charge  him  with  these  weaknesses ; 
and  the  best  talks  we  ever  had  were  when  we  quarrelled 
about  such  things,  for  he  defended  his  bad  cause  admi- 
rably. I  pause  to  note  these  details,  because  they  be- 
long to  a  period  of  three  years  only,  in  the  career  of 
bne  whose  character  was  soon  to  change  and  become 
ennobled. 

The  winter  of  1829  passed  rapidly  amid  this  complex 
life,  in  which,  nevertheless,  reading  and  study  occupied 
a  large  place.  The  Muse  now  and  then  descended, 
taking  him  by  surprise  ;  but  she  was  well  received  when 
she  came.  Among  his  pleasure-loving  companions, 
Alfred  was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  one  true  friend. 
Alfred  Tattet,  then  making  his  first  appearance  in 
society,  was  exactly  of  the  same  age  as  himself.  He 
was  a  lovable  fellow  and  a  very  lively  guest,  regular  in 
his  devotions  and  extravagant  in  his  language,  finding 
every  thing  either  entrancing  or  execrable ;  but  yet 
keener  after  the  pleasures  of  the  mind  than  any  others, 
and  always  ready  to  go  into  raptures  over  a  fine  verse. 
He  easily  obtained  a  sight  of  his  friend's  productions, 
and  used  to  give  little  aesthetic  evenings  and  matinees 
for  the  sake  of  hearing  them  read  and  re-read.  There 
De  Musset  made  the  acquaintance  of  Olric  Guttingeur, 
who  one  day  took  him  to  Havre  and  Honfleur.  In  con- 
sequence of  a  confidential  conversation  which  they  held 


74  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

on  this  journey,  Alfred  wrote  three  stanzas  which  sufficed 
to  immortalize  the  friend  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 
The  youngest  disciple  of  the  great  Cdnacle  thus  became 
the  god  of  a  Cdnacle  not  yet  known. 

In  the  drawing-room  of  Achille  Devdria,  where  he 
went  a  great  deal,  Alfred  used  to  waltz  alternately  with 
two  young  girls  of  the  same  age ;  both  very  pretty  and 
pleasing,  equally  ingenuous  and  great  friends.  He 
talked  delightfully  about  fashions  and  dress  and  trinkets, 
and  was  as  much  a  child  as  any  of  the  three.  He  used 
to  dilate  regularly  to  each  on  the  beauty  and  the  graces 
of  the  other.  On  the  morrow  the  maidens  would  eX' 
change  confidences,  and  they  were  somewhat  scandalized 
not  to  be  able  to  discover  which  he  preferred.  These 
drawing-room  flirtations  were  renewed  season  after  sea- 
son, until  they  ended  in  an  adventure  which  a  few  peo- 
ple must  still  remember.  Gustave  Planche,  who  was 
very  discriminating  in  his  antipathies,  detested  Alfred 
de  Musset  for  no  reason,  but  instinctively.  Planche  did 
not  dance ;  but,  from  the  corner  where  he  was  seated, 
he  undertook  one  evening  to  depose  that  he  had  seen 
the  indefatigable  waltzer  furtively  kiss  the  shoulder  of 
one  of  his  partners.  There  was  an  immediate  "  Fie !  fie ! " 
and  the  young  lady  received  orders  to  refuse  to  dance 
with  her  habitual  partner.  Alfred  guessed,  by  the  sor- 
rowful looks  of  the  victim,  that  she  was  acting  under 
authority,  and  having  done  nothing  amiss,  he  demanded 
an  explanation  so  peremptorily  that  it  was  impossible  to 
refuse.  The  malicious  speech  was  traced  to  its  source, 
and  Planche  attempted  to  deny  it;  but  the  matter  wasi 
pressed,  and  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  confess.    The 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  75 

father's  wrath  was  turned  against  him,  and  when  the 
ball  was  over  he  waited  for  the  calumniator  and  admin- 
istered a  sound  caning.  Planche  learned  the  truth  of  the 
proverb,  "  111  luck  follows  an  ill-wisher ; "  and  it  may 
well  be  supposed  that  the  adventure  did  not  make  him 
love  any  better  the  poet  to  whom  he  owed  the  lesson. 
The  young  girl's  reputation  was  not  to  be  affected  by 
any  such  flurry,  and  it  was  to  her  that  Alfred  de  Musset 
afterwards  addressed  the  verses  "  To  Pepa." 

During  this  time,  the  collection  of  poems  which  was 
to  bear  the  title  of  "  Contes  d'Espagne  et  Italic,"  was 
growing  by  degrees.  That  nothing  may  be  omitted,  we 
will  note,  in  passing,  a  first  publication  which  is  very 
little  known.  At  eighteen,  Alfred  was  only  too  happy  to 
translate  from  the  English  a  small  romance  for  the  pub- 
lisher M.  Mame.  He  had  adopted  the  simple  title  of 
"  Le  Mangeur  d'Opium  ; "  but  the  editor  insisted  on 
"  L' Anglais,  Mangeur  d'Opium."  ^  This  little  volume,  of 
which  it  would  probably  be  difficult  to  find  a  copy  to-day, 
was  prepared  in  a  month.  The  translator  was  not  very 
exact,  and  introduced  into  the  reveries  of  the  foreign 
hero  some  of  the  impressions  which  he  had  himself  re- 
ceived from  M.  Bdrard's  lessons  in  descriptive  anatomy. 
No  notice  was  taken  of  this  anonymous  publication,  and 
it  disappeared  in  the  flood  of  literary  novelties,  like  a 
drop  of  water  in  the  sea. 

But  now  came  a  catastrophe  of  which  the  consequences 
were  serious,  and  which  troubled  the  poet  deeply.  One 
morning  his  father  informed  him  that  he  had  secured  for 
him  a  clerk's  place  in  one  of  the  offices  of  M.  Febvrel, 

'  The  title  of  the  original  was  "  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-eater." 


"j^  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

who  had  just  obtained,  through  sealed  proposals,  the 
contract  for  supplying  the  military  posts  with  fuel.  The 
poor  boy  dared  not  wink.  He  suffered  himself  to  be 
fettered  by  the  bureaucratic  ball  and  chain.  No  very 
great  assiduity  was  required  of  him  ;  but  he  daily  felt 
the  weight  of  his  fetters  in  every  respect  save  that  of 
salary.  Impelled  at  length  by  a  frantic  desire  to  regain 
his  liberty,  he  called  on  a  devoted  publisher  of  the  ro- 
mantic school.  Urbain  Canel  examined  the  manuscript 
of  the  "  Contes  d'Espagne,"  and  declared  that  it  lacked 
five  hundred  verses  of  the  length  suitable  for  an  octavo 
volume,  which  was  the  regulation  form  of  the  new 
literature. 

"  Five  hundred  verses  !  "  cried  the  poet.  "I  can  soon 
give  you  those,  if  they  will  emancipate  me  !  " 

It  was  the  season  of  vacations,  and  Alfred  obtained 
from  his  employers  a  leave  of  three  weeks.  On  the  27th 
of  August,  1829,  he  set  out  for  Mans,  where  his  Uncle 
Desherbiers  was  then  residing.  He  returned  on  the 
igth  of  September,^  and  that  very  evening  repeated  to 
me  the  entire  poem  of  "  Mardoche,"  which  contained 
almost  six  hundred  verses,  some  of  the  most  audacious 
of  which  had,  however,  to  be  suppressed.  Urbain  Canel 
was  particularly  charmed  by  the  length  of  the  piece,  and 
sent  it  at  once  to  the  printer.  The  compositors  worked 
at  these  poems  of  an  unknown  author  only  in  their 
leisure  moments,  and  the  last  proof-sheets  did  not  come 
till  near  the  end  of  the  year.  On  the  24th  of  December, 
Alfred  besought  his  father  to  give  a  party,  and  invite 
MM.  Merim^e,  De  Vigny,  Emile  and  Antony  Deschamps, 

1  I  find  these  exact  dates  in  his  note-books. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  "jy 

Louis  Boulanger,  Victor  Pavie,  De  la  Rosi^re  and 
Guttingeur.  To  them  he  recited  "  Don  Paez,"  "  Portia," 
and  "Mardoche."  Most  of  the  invited  guests  were 
already  acquainted  with  the  first  two  poems  ;  but  the 
last  named,  for  all  its  freedom  of  language,  carried 
off  the  honors  of  the  night.  There  was  but  one  opin- 
ion about  the  infallible  success  which  awaited  these 
poems. 

A  few  days  later,  there  appeared,  under  the  title  of 
"Contes  d'Espagne  et  Italic,"  a  volume  of  232  pages,  of 
which  but  five  hundred  copies  were  printed.-^  The  effect 
which  it  produced  is  well  known ;  but  it  is  curious  to- 
day to  re-read  the  journals  of  that  time.  Some  of  them 
flew  into  a  perfect  rage  against  both  the  book  and  its 
author.  One  condemns  the  exaggeration  both  of  charac- 
ters and  language  ;  another,  on  the  other  hand,  praises 
the  young  poet  for  not  abusing  his  privilege  of  hyperbole. 
An  opposition  journal  inquired  with  admirable  gravity : 
"  Whence  comes  this  preference  of  the  rising  generation 
for  Spain  and  Italy,  countries  where  freedom  does  not 
exist,  and  where  religion  is  degraded  by  superstitious 
observances."  At  the  same  time,  a  pious  royalist  critic 
votes  an  indulgence  to  the  unbridled  Muse  on  account 
of  the  second  canto  of  *'  Portia,"  where  he  has  dis- 
covered an  edifying  description  of  the  awe  inspired  by 
the  majestic  aspect  of  a  Gothic  church. 

'  The  smallness  of  the  edition  is  not  remarkable.  In  those  days  nobody 
bought  new  books.  They  only  praised  them  in  their  neighbors'  studies. 
Those  five  hundred  books  obtained,  in  a  few  days,  ten  thousand  readers. 
Between  1828  and  1S40  the  fashion  of  publication  changed.  The  iSmo 
displaced  the  8vo,  and  people  bought  the  books  which  they  desired  to 
read. 


78  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

The  celebrated  "  Ballade  k  la  Lune  "  became  at  once 
the  subject  of  clamorous  discussion.  Those  who  were 
sternly  resolved  to  take  it  seriously,  considered  them- 
selves absolved  by  this  specimen  from  reading  the  rest 
of  the  book.  Others  saw  in  it  much  more  than  the  poet 
had  meant,  and  would  have  it  that  he  was  ridiculing 
both  his  friends  and  himself.  It  must  be  confessed  that, 
on  this  occasion,  professional  connoisseurs  and  respect- 
able middle-aged  men  were  not  exactly  the  most  intelligent 
judges.  But  while  they  gravely  discussed,  with  more 
or  less  of  good  faith,  the  exact  meaning  of  the  *'  Ballade 
k  la  Lune,"  the  poet  had  conquered  the  public  whom 
he  desired  to  please, — the  young  of  both  sexes. 

Alfred  soon  had  numbers  of  adventures  to  confide  to 
me.  Some  were  "  Boccaccian,"  and  some  romantic ; 
others  had  a  spice  of  the  dramatic.  Several  times,  I  was 
awakened  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  give  my  serious 
opinion  on  some  matter  requiring  the  utmost  prudence. 
All  these  anecdotes  having  been  confided  to  me  under 
the  seal  of  secrecy,  I  forgot  them  as  in  duty  bound ; 
but  I  am  able  to  afiirm  that  they  would  have  stricken 
with  envy  Bassompierre  or  Lauzun.  The  women  of 
those  days  were  not  absorbed  in  luxury  and  the 
toilette.  Young  people  who  desired  to  please  did  not 
need  to  be  rich.  To  have  at  nineteen  the  prestige  of 
genius  and  fame  sufficed  for  some  things.  But  for  all 
his  success,  Alfred  de  Musset  had  the  modesty  and  good 
sense  to  resist  intoxication.  He  was  always  on  his 
guard  against  foolish  pride  and  infatuation  about  him- 
self,—  a  vulgar  shoal,  on  which  nevertheless  some  of 
the  greatest  minds  have  grounded. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussei.  79 

While  the  servunt  pecus  of  imitators  flung  itself  upon 
the  "  Contes  d'Espagne,"  and  made,  as  best  they  might, 
a  hundred  different  attempts  to  copy  them,  Alfred  de 
Musset  himself  was  pondering  a  reform,  and  changed  his 
pace  so  completely  that,  in  the  "Voeux  Steriles,"  "Octave," 
and  the  "  Pensees  de  Rafael,"  —  the  first  pieces 
which  he  published  in  the  "  Revue  de  Paris,"  after  an 
interval  of  serious  reflection,  —  we  find  no  more  irregular 
verses,  no  trace  of  carelessness  in  style.  We  know  that 
the  poet  asked  forgiveness  of  his  mother-tongue  for 
having  sometimes  offended  her.  He  said  that  Racine 
and  Shakspeare  met  upon  his  table  Boileau,  who  had 
forgiven  them  ;  and  though  he  boasted  of  making 
his  Muse  walk  bare-foot,  like  truth,  the  classicists 
might  have  supposed  her  shod  with  the  golden  buskin. 
They  might  well  have  congratulated  themselves  on  an 
apology,  so  gracefully  uttered  ;  but  they  pretended  not 
to  have  heard  it,  and  came  back  to  the  "  dot  of  the 
i,"  ^  like  Moli^re's  marquis  in  his  refrain  of  "  cream 
tarts."  At  this  epoch,  the  romanticists,  wounded  by 
Raphael's  profession  of  faith,  complained  of  desertion, 
and  did  not  fail  to  say  that  the  poet  of  the  "  Contes 
d'Espagne  "  had  deteriorated,  and  was  not  fulfilling  his 
early  promise.  Alfred  de  Musset  suddenly  found  him- 
self alone,  all  parties  having  turned  against  him ;  but  * 
he  was  young,  and  proud  as  CEdipus,  and  literary  differ- 

1  Musset,  in  his  famous  "  Ballad  to  the  Moon,"  fantastically  compares  the 
planet,  hanging  above  a  pointed  spire,  to  the  dot  over  an  i,  — 
"  C'6tait  dans  la  nuit  brune, 
Sur  le  clocher  jaune  ; 

La  lune, 
Comme  un  point  sur  un  i,"  &c.  — Tr. 


8o  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

ences  did  not  prevent  friendly  intercourse.  He  did  not 
go  as  often  as  formerly  to  the  Cdnacle;  but  he  met 
his  old  friends  at  the  receptions  of  Achille  Devdria,  and 
at  the  Arsenal  with  good  Nodier,  who  loved  him  de- 
votedly. 

But  Alfred  had  obtained  leave  to  resign  his  place ;  and 
the  day  on  which  he  did  so  had  been  one  of  the  happiest 
of  his  life.  That  his  father  might  have  no  anxiety  about 
the  consequences  of  this  rash  step,  he  undertook  to  pro- 
duce something  more  lucrative  than  poetry ;  and  with 
this  intent  he  composed  a  little  dramatic  piece  in  three 
tableaux,  entitled  "La  Quittance  du  Diable."  Each 
tableau  was  accompanied  by  a  recitation  in  verse.  It 
was  a  mere  scintillation  of  fancy,  yet  not  without  origi- 
nality. With  the  assistance  of  a  musician  of  talent,  he 
might  have  made  of  it  a  comic  opera,  which  would  have 
been  as  taking  as  many  others.  The  piece  was  offered 
to  the  theatre  of  the  "  Nouveaut^s,"  where  all  kinds  of 
things  were  played,  and  it  was  accepted  ;  and  some  steps 
must  have  been  taken  towards  its  representation,  for  the 
distribution  of  characters  is  written  out  on  the  cover  of 
the  manuscript,  in  the  manager's  hand.  M.  Bouffet  and 
Mme.  Albert  were  to  take  the  two  principal  parts,  and 
they  were  the  best  artists  in  the  company.  I  do  not 
know  what  prevented  the  representation  ;  but  probably 
it  was  the  Revolution  of  July,  which  broke  out  while  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra  was  arranging  the  music  for  the 
scenes.  However  that  may  have  been,  the  author  with- 
drew the  piece,  and  consigned  it  to  the  portfolio  where 
it  still  remains. 

After  the   crisis   of   the   7th  of  August,   Alfred   de 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel.  8i 

Musset,  who  feared  nothing  so  much  as  a  public  office, 
remained  a  passive  spectator  of  the  rush  for  places. 
Selfish  congratulations  poured  from  all  quarters  into  the 
palace  ;  but  he  allowed  himself  to  forget  his  old  school- 
fellow, now  become  Due  d'Orl^ans.  The  gravity  of  the 
political  prospect,  and  the  counter-strokes  of  revolution 
in  the  north  and  south  of  Europe,  did  not  suffice  to 
arrest  the  literary  movement,  begun  under  the  fallen 
dynasty.  The  general  intellectual  fermentation  seemed 
to  have  turned  to  the  advantage  of  letters.  During  the 
four  years  of  the  new  re'gime,  a  generation  of  writers 
arose  who  have  not  yet  been  superseded.  In  the  autumn 
of  1830,  the  theatres,  less  restricted  now  than  ever  be- 
fore, seized  upon  a  subject  which  had  been  forbidden 
under  the  previous  government ;  namely,  the  epopee  of 
the  Empire.  Napoleon  appeared  upon  every  stage,  even 
the  most  obscure.  Harel,  the  enterprising  director  of  the 
Oddon,  brought  out  in  superb  style  a  drama  of  this 
kind,  the  principal  part  in  which  was  given  to  Frederic 
Le  Maitre  ;  and,  to  fill  a  void  in  hi's  repertory,  the  same 
manager  requested  the  author  of  the  "  Contes  d'Espagne 
et  Italic"  to  furnish  him  a  piece  as  novel  and  audacious 
as  possible.  The  manuscript  of  the  "  Nuit  Vdnitienne  " 
was  the  result,  and  M.  Harel  appeared  enchanted  with 
it.  The  piece  was  carefully  mounted,  committed  to 
memory  in  a  few  days,  and  announced  as  a  godsend. 
M.  Lockroy  took  the  part  of  the  Prince ;  Vizentini,  a 
capital  actor,  played  the  comic  character  3  an  actress  of 
moderate  gifts,  but  extremely  pretty,  played  Lauretta ; 
and  M.  Lafosse,  Razetta. 

The  first  performance  took  place  on  Wednesday,  Dec. 
6 


82  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

I,  1830.  I  do  not  know  the  character  of  the  audience; 
but  in  the  second  scene,  which  is  nevertheless  ex- 
tremely lively,  Vizentini  found  himself  interrupted  by 
hisses.  Furious  cries  drowned  the  voices  of  the  actors, 
and  the  pit  had  paroxysms  at  all  the  finest  points  in  the 
dialogue,  as  though  it  had  gone  with  the  full  intention 
of  hearing  nothing.  The  author  was  confounded  by  the 
uproar,  and  could  not  believe  but  that  the  piece  would 
recover  itself  during  the  great  scene  between  the  Prince 
of  Eisenach  and  Laurette.  Mile.  Bdranger,  beautifully 
dressed  in  white  satin,  was  resplendent  in  freshness  and 
beauty,  and  for  a  moment  the  gigglers  were  actually 
silenced.  Unhappily,  the  actress,  in  looking  from  her 
balcony  to  see  if  the  jealous  Razetta  were  still  at  his 
post,  had  to  lean  against  a  green  trellis,  the  paint  of 
which  was  not  dry,  and  she  turned  toward  the  public 
with  a  robe  all  crossed  with  green  squares,  from  the 
girdle  to  the  hem.  This  time  the  disheartened  author 
succumbed  to  his  ill-luck ;  and  the  scene  between  the 
Prince  and  Laurette  was  fairly  smothered  in  the  yells  of 
the  audience.  All  the  charming  wit  by  which  the  young 
"  Venitienne "  allows  herself  to  be  cajoled,  passed  un- 
heeded. In  that  scene,  there  is  one  remark  quoted  from 
a  letter  of  Lovelace  to  Belford.  I  hoped  that  this  pas- 
sage would  conciliate  the  malcontents ;  but  it  did  not. 
Richardson  was  hooted  like  all  the  rest.  Harel,  con- 
vinced that  all  this  tumult  was  deliberately  planned, 
insisted  upon  a  second  trial.  The  fatal  trellis  was  re- 
moved. Mile.  Beranger  wore  a  new  gown,  and  the  author 
besought  M.  Lockroy  to  add  these  words,  after  the  quo- 
tation from  Richardson,  "  as  Lovelace  says."     But  all 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  83 

was  vain.  The  piece  had  almost  precisely  the  same 
reception  as  at  first,  and  the  name  of  Lovelace  was 
greeted  by  an  ignorant  and  senseless  titter.  When  the 
storm  was  at  its  height,  the  author  cried  out,  "  I  would 
never  have  believed  that  there  was  material  in  Paris 
for  so  stupid  an  audience."  Prosper  Chalas  wrote 
him  the  next  day,  and  asked  whether  he  proposed  to 
throw  himself  to  the  beasts  that  evening,  and  he  re- 
plied, "  No,  I  have  said  farewell  to  the  menagerie  for 
one  while." 

The  consequences  of  this  sad  mishap  were  incalculable. 
Disgusted  by  a  rebuff  of  which  he  keenly  felt  the  cruelty 
and  injustice,  Alfred  de  Musset  wrote  no  more  with  a 
view  to  stage  representation.  If  the  public  had  awarded 
to  the  young  author  of  twenty  the  consideration  which 
was  his  due,  how  many  more  dramatic  pieces  might  have 
followed  this  first  attempt !  His  glorious  revenge  of 
the  "  Caprice  "  was  not  taken  until  seventeen  years  after 
this  mortifying  evening.  Who  can  say  how  the  theatre 
would  have  stood  to-day  if  a  handful  of  Boeotians  had 
not  alienated  from  it,  for  so  many  years,  the  only  writer 
capable  of  arresting  the  decline  of  the  dramatic  art. 
Possibly  that  class  of  literature  which,  since  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV.,  has  always  held  the  foremost  rank  in 
France,  might  have  escaped  the  reproach  of  declining 
to  a  manufacture.  The  public  has  only  itself  to  thank 
for  the  pleasure  which  it  has  lost. 

Loeve-Veimars,  in  the  "  Temps,"  had  the  courage  to 
chide  the  Oddon  pit  for  the  brutality  of  its  behavior. 
The  young  author  was  grateful,  and  paid  a  visit  to 
Lobve-Veimars,   during  which    he  was    presented    to 


84  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Jacques  Coste,  chief  editor  of  the  "  Temps."  The 
latter,  by  way  of  experiment,  requested  the  author  of 
the  "  Contes  d'Espagne  "  to  furnish  him  a  few  fanciful 
articles,  and  allowed  him  carte  blanche.  From  Jan.  lo, 
to  the  close  of  May,  183 1,  there  appeared  quite  reg- 
ularly every  Monday  a  series  of  anonymous  articles 
under  the  head  of  "  Revue  Fantastique,"  where  Alfred 
treated  such  subjects  as  occurred  to  him.  That  of 
"Pantagruel,  the  Constitutional  King,"  was  remarkably 
opportune,  and  had  a  great  success.  But,  though  truly 
modest,  the  poet  had  too  much  independence  long  to 
submit  to  any  species  of  slavery.  He  wearied  of  jour- 
nalism, and  his  reviews  soon  ceased  to  appear. 

Under  the  pretext  of  acquiring  experience,  he  was 
leading  a  somewhat  dissipated  life.  Young  people  of 
fashion  used  then  to  spend  their  evenings  at  the  Cafe 
de  Paris,  and  parties  of  pleasure  were  organized  there 
on  an  extensive  scale.  They  would  set  off  at  midnight 
in  post-chaises  for  Enghien  or  Morfontaine.  They  laid 
extravagant  bets,  which  created  public  excitement,  and 
Alfred  de  Musset  bore  his  part  in  all  this  nonsense. 
Occasions  for  more  moderate  pleasure  also  came  to  him. 
The  tmforeseefi,  for  which  he  had  a  somewhat  pagan 
veneration,  reserved  for  him  sundry  special  favors. 
Often  bewildered  by  the  choice  offered  him,  he  neglected 
a  more  obvious  for  a  more  doubtful  pleasure,  —  for  a 
simple  card-party  at  his  neighbor's  the  Marquis  of  Bel- 
mont, an  informal  visit,  a  cigar,  a  chat  with  a  friend, 
or  for  nothing  whatever.  He  found  it  extremely  pleas- 
ant to  stay  at  home  and  reflect  that  he  might  be  enjoy- 
ing himself  abroad  if  he  liked.     His  study  was  to  him 


Biography  of  Alfred  d'e  Musset.  85 

a  haunt  of  delight,  and  there  we  often  talked  till  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Or  sometimes  the  framing  of 
an  engraving  purchased  on  the  quays  demanded  our 
serious  consideration  ;  and,  on  such  days,  ours  was  an 
animated  interior,  and  our  family  meals  were  as  gay  as 
possible. 

Among  those  freaks  of  chance  which  the  poet  loved 
to  regard  with  a  whimsical  reverence,  there  was  one 
which  deserves  to  be  reported.  Mme.  La  Duchesse 
de  Castries  wanted  to  read  the  "  Contes  d'Espagne," 
and  ordered  her  companion,  who  was  an  Englishwoman, 

to  buy  a  copy.     Miss was  not  very  well  acquainted 

with  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  knew  no  better  than  to 
write  to  the  author  the  following  note :  — 

"  Monsieur,  —  A  young  English  lady,  wishing  to  read 
your  poems,  addresses  herself  immediately  to  you  to  obtain 
them.  If  you  will  send  them  to  her,  she  will  be  deeply 
obliged." 

This  note,  legibly  signed  and  bearing  the  young  lady's 
address,  remained  for  a  long  tinoe  open  upon  a  table,  in 
company  with  others  equally  impertinent.  One  morn- 
ing, however,  Alfred  read  it  over,  and  wrote  the  follow- 
ing reply :  — 

"  Mademoiselle,  —  All  young  English  ladies  are  pretty, 
and  I  shall  not  wrong  you  by  fancying  you  an  exception  to 
the  general  rule.  Since,  therefore,  you  have  freely  confided 
to  me  your  name  and  address,  do  not  be  surprised  if  I  claim 
the  privilege  of  ofiering  to  you  in  person  the  poems  which  you 
desire  to  read." 

Poor  Miss was  terribly  embarrassed.    She  ran  to 

the  duchess  and  confessed  her  blunder,  and  showed  her 


S6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

the  cavalier  reply  which  her  imprudence  had  drawn 
forth.  Mme.  de  Castries  comforted  her,  and  told  her 
to  await  with  composure  the  proposed  call.  Alfred  de 
Musset  soon  came  with  his  book  under  his  arm.  The 
valet  de  chambre  had  had  his  orders,  and  conducted 
him  to  the  drawing-room,  where  the  duchess  received 
him  most  graciously  and  invited  him  to  sit  down.  She 
then  explained  smilingly  the  mistake  of  her  companion. 
"There  is  no  reason,"  she  said,  "-why  you  should  be 
deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  seeing  this  young  English 
girl,  and  I  will  presently  introduce  you  ;  but  you  must 
begin  by  making  my  own  acquaintance." 

Thereupon,  they  began  to  talk.  Alfred  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  the  Duchesse  de  Castries  was  one  of 
the  most  agreeable  women  in  Paris.  He,  therefore, 
put  a  good  face  on  the  matter,  accepted  the  situation 
merrily,  and  determined  to  shine ;  and  the  result  was 
that  the  acquaintance,  thus  begun,  ended  in  a  life-long 
friendship. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  8y 


VI. 


TT  has  been  said  of  the  author  of  the  "Contes 
■*■  d'Espagne  "  that  all  he  lacked  in  his  various  enter- 
prises was  good  advice.  I  would  have  liked  to  see  the 
honorable  counsellors  bringing  their  budget  of  maxims 
to  that  eager  spirit,  who  knew  much  more  about  them 
than  the  old  masters  themselves,  and  who  never  treated 
a  literary  question,  either  in  conversation  or  in  writing, 
without  improvising  a  whole  art  of  poetry,  full  of  genuine 
novelties.  Nothing  certainly  would  have  been  easier 
than  to  convince  him  that  his  verses  were  bad ;  but  he 
would  have  flung  them  into  the  fire,  and  there  would 
have  been  no  gain.  Advice  about  his  way  of  life  he 
never  lacked.  But  it  would  have  been  a  fine  thing  to 
hear  reasonable  people  lecture  this  Fantasio,  who  even 
while  he  gave  loose  rein  to  his  passions,  yet  scrutinized 
and  studied  himself  so  carefully  that  his  fancy  far  out- 
ran all  representations  which  could  be  made  to  him. 
Nothing  but  time,  experience,  and  reflection  can  change 
the  character  of  a  poet's  genius ;  and,  if  reflection  can 
abridge  time,  never  did  poet  advance  faster  than  he  of 
whom  we  speak. 

His  experience  with  the  public  had  been  enough  to 
make  Alfred  de  Musset  resolve  to  reform  his  manner. 
Nor  was  this  merely  an  affair  of  prosody  and  versifica- 
tion. A  revolution  far  more  important  was  in  progress 
in  his  ideas  and  the  character  of  his  mind.     He  pro- 


88  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

duced  very  little  in  the  years  1830  and  183 1 ;  but  he 
read  and  reflected  much,  and  he  lived  more  perhaps 
than  is  needful  for  a  poet.  One  evening,  in  the  month 
of  October,  I  found  him  sitting  moodily  with  his  head 
in  his  hands,  and  I  asked  him  what  he  was  think- 
ing of. 

"  I  am  thinking,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  am  approaching 
my  majority.  Two  months  from  to-day,  I  shall  be 
twenty-one ;  and  that  is  a  great  age.  Do  I  need  to 
visit  so  many  men,  and  chatter  with  so  many  women,  in 
order  to  know  mankind  ?  Have  I  not  already  seen 
enough  to  have  much  to  say,  supposing  that  I  am  capa- 
ble of  saying  any  thing?  Either  we  have  nothing  in  us, 
and  our  sensations  have  no  effect  upon  our  minds  ;  or*we 
have  the  elements  of  all  things  in  us,  and  then  we  only 
need  see  a  little  in  order  to  divine  the  whole.  And  still 
I  feel  that  I  lack  something,  I  don't  know  what.  Is  it  a 
great  love  ?  Is  it  a  great  sorrow  ?  Both  perhaps.  But 
I  dare  not  crave  that  sort  of  enlightenment.  Experi- 
ence is  a  good  thing,  provided  it  does  not  kill  you." 

As  if  he  scented  in  the  air  something  which  he 
dreaded,  he  formed  schemes  for  retirement  and  hard 
work.  He  tried  regularly  to  apportion  his  day.  That 
he  might  be  sure  of  quiet  recreation,  he  took  a  season- 
ticket  to  the  opera  for  six  months.  Sometimes  he  passed 
the  time  of  the  performance  in  a  stage-box,  where  he 
met  friends.  Sometimes  he  retired  alone  to  a  re- 
mote corner,  and  gladly  allowed  the  music  to  excite  his 
imagination.  Under  this  sort  of  stimulus,  he  composed 
the  "  Saule,"  the  longest  and  most  serious  poem  which 
he  had  yet  written,  and  which  represents  what  we  call, 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  89 

in  the  work  of  a  painter,  a  period  of  transition.  I 
have  elsewhere  described  the  grotesque  destiny  of  this 
poem.* 

The  winter  opened  with  gloomy  auspices.  The  cholera, 
which  had  been  stayed  for  a  short  time  in  Poland,  had 
just  appeared  in  the  north  of  Germany.  One  morning  we 
learned  that  it  had  leaped  with  a  single  bound  to  Lon- 
don, and  presently  the  tidings  spread  that  it  had  broken 
out  in  Paris.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  city  was  changed. 
One  could  not  stir  abroad  without  meeting  hundreds  of 
hearses.  In  the  evening,  the  deserted  streets,  lighted 
at  long  intervals  by  the  red  lanterns  of  the  ambulances, 
the  closed  shops,  the  silence,  the  few  panic-stricken 
passers-by  who  were  hurrying  for  help,  all  revealed  the 
presence  of  the  scourge ;  and  every  morning  the  number 
of  the  dead  increased.  Immense  removal-carts  en- 
countered at  every  door  one  or  more  biers,  sometimes 
but  half  constructed.  If  the  corpse  was  not  ready,  the 
overworked  agents  complained  of  being  made  to  wait, 
and  quarrelled  with  relatives  and  servants.  Since  the 
days  of  the  plague  in  the  reign  of  Charles  V.,  nothing 
like  it  had  been  known  in  Paris. 

Our  father  was  then  suffering  from  an  attack  of  the 
gout.  On  the  7th  of  April,  when  the  physician  ques- 
tioned him,  we  observed  his  countenance  change.  He 
did  not  mention  the  pestilence,  but  the  prescriptions 
which  he  ordered  were  enough.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  cholera  declared  itself  with  frightful  violence, 
and  at  six  in  the  morning  all  was  over.     Our  consterna- 

1  See  a  brief  notice  of  the  life  of  Alfred  de  Musset,  in  the  quarto  edition 
of  his  works,  published  by  subscription  in  1866.     Paris  :  M.  Charpentier. 


90  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

tion  was  so  great  that  we  did  not  at  first  measure  the 
consequences  of  this  great  misfortune.  I  had  seen  my 
brother  shed  tears  over  disappointments  in  love ;  but  now 
his  grief  was  quieter  because  deeper,  and  he  was  mute. 
"  This,"  said  he,  "  is  one  of  those  tearless  troubles  which 
are  never  assuaged,  the  memory  of  which  will  always 
keep  its  first  horror  and  bitterness.  Death  strikes  us 
otherwise  than  love." 

Before  examining  the  state  of  our  father's  affairs,  it 
seemed  evident  to  us  that,  if  the  emoluments  of  a  fine 
office  were  subtracted  from  the  family  income,  our  posi- 
tion must  necessarily  be  changed.  It  did  not  prove  so. 
Unexpected  resources  appeared;  but  their  extent  was 
yet  uncertain,  when  my  brother  confided  to  me  a  resolu- 
tion which  will  perhaps  appear  incredible  to-day. 

"Without  comfort,"  said  he  to  me  one  evening,  "there 
can  be  no  leisure,  and  without  leisure  no  poetry.  I  must 
stop  playing  the  spoiled  child,  and  toying  with  a  vocation 
which  is  not  a  career.  It  is  time  for  me  to  think  and  act 
like  a  man.  The  notion  of  being  a  burden  on  the  best  of 
mothers,  or  of  prejudicing  the  future  of  a  sister  whom  we 
adore,  and  who  will  need  a  dowry  in  ten  years,  is  revolt- 
ing to  me.  I  shall  put  the  affection  of  those  whom  I  love 
best  to  no  such  test ;  and  this  is  what  I  have  determined 
to  do.  I  shall  make  a  last  literary  experiment  with  a  vol- 
ume of  verses  which  will  be  better  than  the  first.  If  the 
publication  of  this  work  does  not  bring  me  in  as  much  as 
I  expect,  I  shall  enlist  in  Chartres'  hussars,  or  in  a  regi- 
ment of  lancers  along  with  my  old  comrade  the  Prince  of 
Echmiihl.  The  uniform  will  be  very  becoming.  I  am 
young  and  in  good  health.    I  like  horseback  riding;  and, 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  91 

with  the  influence  which  I  can  bring  to  bear,  the  devil  is 
in  it  if  I  do  not  become  an  officer." 

Considering  the  necessary  delay,  I  was  not  over- 
powered by  terror  at  this  resolution.  There  was  no 
prospect  of  immediate  want  at  home.  Alfred  began  his 
work,  and  it  was  not  from  work  that  I  desired  to  dis- 
suade him.  The  plan  of  the  poem  was  suggested  by 
that  Oriental  proverb  of  whose  truth  he  was  destined  to 
have  sorrowful  experience,  "  Between  the  cup  and  the 
lip,  there  is  room  for  a  misfortune."  He  supposed  him- 
self obliged  to  work,  and  delighted  to  repeat  that  neces- 
sity is  a  muse  whom  courage  can  idealize.  Sustained  by 
the  idea  that  this  attempt  would  be  his  last,  he  felt  per- 
fectly free  in  his  mind ;  and,  when  he  was  satisfied  with 
his  day's  work,  he  used  to  rub  his  hands  and  say :  "  I 
am  not  a  soldier  yet." 

With  no  more  information  about  the  Tyrol  than  could 
be  derived  from  the  old  geographical  dictionary  of  La 
Martini^re,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  lay  the  scene  of  "  La 
Coupe  et  les  Lfevres  "  in  that  unknown  country,  and  he 
proved  thereby  that  "  the  poet  has  within  himself  the 
elements  of  all  things."  This  dramatic  poem,  which 
contains  more  than  sixteen  hundred  verses,  was  finished 
in  the  course  of  the  summer;  and  the  author  then  read  it 
aloud  to  his  friend  Alfred  Tattet.  During  the  autumn, 
he  also  wrote  the  comedy,  "  A  quoi  revent  les  jeunes 
Filles."  Two  sisters  full  of  wit  and  grace  whom  he  had 
known  at  Mans,  and  whom  he  called  his  first  partners, 
served  him  as  the  models  of  those  two  charming  figures, 
Ninette  and  Ninon. 

It  was  I  who  undertook  to  offer  to  the  publisher  Ren- 


92  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

duel  this  volume,  whose  title,  "  Un  Spectacle  dans  un 
Fauteuil,"  was  suggested  by  the  remembrance  of  that 
tumultuous  night  at  the  Oddon.  Renduel  seemed  in  no 
haste  to  conclude  the  bargain.  Poetry,  he  said,  was 
not  a  salable  commodity,  while  prose  sold  like  bread. 
Fortunately  I  myself  had  just  engaged  in  bread-making; 
and,  out  of  regard  to  me,  Renduel  consented  to  trade  in 
the  less  popular  form  of  food.  The  MS.  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  compositors,  and  the  proofs  were  coming, 
when  there  was  added  at  the  foot  of  the  page  an  excla- 
mation of  alarm,  "  More  copy !  more  copy  !  "  The  pub- 
lisher added,  "There  are  but  203  pages,  and  we  must 
have  300,  or  the  volume  will  not  be  presentable." 

The  author  set  to  work  again.  He  wrote  "  Namouna  " 
yet  more  expeditiously  than  he  had  written  "  Mardoche." 
Even  then  there  were  but  288  pages ;  but  the  article  being 
rhymed,  and  consequently  of  the  second  class,  the  pub- 
lisher was  content  with  the  smaller  quantity.  Alfred 
then  assembled  his  friends,  and  made  them  listen  to 
"  La  Coupe  et  les  Levres,"  and  the  comedy  "  A  quoi 
revent  les  jeunes  Filles."  The  audience  consisted  of 
the  very  persons  who  had  applauded  the  "  Contes 
d'Espagne"  three  years  before;  but  what  a  difference! 
He  was  heard  in  sombre  silence.  Was  it  admiration, 
shock,  surprise,  or  dissatisfaction  ?  I  do  not  know.  I 
only  know  that  the  sea/ice  was  perfectly  glacial,  and  that 
the  publisher  was  in  despair.  M.  Merimde  alone  drew 
near  the  author  and  said  in  a  subdued  tone :  "  You 
have  made  an  enormous  advance.  The  little  comedy, 
especially,  pleases  me  very  much."  The  book  appeared 
before  the  end  of  the  year,  but  with  the  date  1833.     It 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  93 

did  not  create  nearly  as  great  a  sensation  as  the  "  Contes 
d'Espagne  ; "  but  most  fortunately  the  author  had  heard, 
the  very  day  after  it  was  offered  for  sale,  two  young  men 
who  were  walking  before  him  on  the  Boulevard  de  Gand 
laughingly  repeat  this  verse  from  the  part  of  Irus,  — 

"  Spadille  a  I'air  de  oie,  et  Quinola  d'un  cuistre."  ^ 
And  this  trivial  circumstance,  made  him  feel  entirely 
satisfied.  The  journals  were  apparently  somewhat  afraid 
to  reverse  their  previous  judgments ;  but  at  length  M. 
Sainte-Beuve,  who  himself  owed  no  apology  to  the 
author  of  the  "  Contes  d'Espagne,"  succeeded  in  attach- 
ing the  bell.  In  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  for 
Jan.  15,  1833,  he  published  an  article  in  which  the  new 
volume  of  poems  was  compared  with  the  first,  progress 
noted,  and  the  beauties  of  the  two  works  illustrated,  with 
that  absolute  correctness  of  eye,  that  skill  in  thoroughly 
searching  and  fathoming  a  subject  and  throwing  its  most 
delicate  shades  into  relief,  which  make  criticism,  when 
sustained  by  disinterestedness  and  good  faith,  a  truly 
fine  and  useful  art.  M.  Sainte-Beuve  quoted  from  both 
volumes  passages  with  which  he  was  peculiarly  struck, 
and  then  added :  "  To  my  mind  these  verses  have  a 
poetical  quality,  the  equal  of  which  in  its  own  way  is  not 
to  be  found  in  all  the  works  of  any  one  of  a  large  num- 
ber of  estimable  people  whose  verses  have  brought  them 
to  the  Academy,  —  M.  Casimir  Delavigne  himself,  if 
you  will.  Images  like  these  are  found,  not  elaborated. 
I  could  cite  at  least  a  hundred  as  good,  of  which  all 
plagiarists,  manufacturers,  verbal  critics,  and  people  of 
taste,  are  invited  to  partake." 

'  "  Spadille  looks  like  a  goose,  and  Quinola  like  a  fag." 


94  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

One  likes  to  see  criticism  turn  animated  and  forget 
itself,  cast  aside  its  judge's  cap  in  a  moment  of  enthusi- 
asm, and  push  to  the  verge  of  imprudence  its  disregard 
of  consequences.  At  the  close  of  his  article,  M.  Sainte- 
Beuve  delicately  reminded  his  readers  that  he  was  a 
poet  himself,  by  remarking  that  Marlowe  and  Rotrou, 
on  the  appearance  of  Shakspeare  and  Corneille,  were 
saved  from  sorrow  by  admiration. 

The  example  thus  deliberately  set  by  M.  Sainte- 
Beuve  found  but  few  imitators.  Articles  appeared  at 
long  intervals.  People  were  pretty  generally  agreed 
about  the  merit  of  the  portrait  of  Don  Juan  in  "  Na- 
mouna."  There  was  no  longer  any  thought  of  denying 
talent ;  but  it  was  still  possible  to  dispute  originality. 
Every  thing  is  like  something  else.  Criticism  fell  back 
on  the  accusation,  so  often  repeated  since  and  with  so 
little  discernment,  of  having  imitated  Lord  Byron  and 
other  poets  whom  my  brother  resembled  but  slightly. 
On  this  point,  the  author  had  well  defended  himself  in 
the  very  dedication  of  the  book  thus  criticised.  This 
dedication  contained  a  passage  in  which  the  doctrines 
of  the  romanticists,  and  the  mania  for  curious  rhymes, 
were  sharply  attacked.  But  it  made  no  difference  ;  and 
the  poet  had  flung  at  his  head  the  names  of  Byron, 
Victor  Hugo,  La  Fontaine,  and  Mathurin  Regnier.  In 
point  of  fact,  a  man  who  could  have  imitated  success- 
fully so  many  poets,  differing  so  widely  among  them- 
selves, must  have  come  near  originality.  It  would  seem 
as  if  three  years  of  intimate  association  with  a  mind  as 
firmly  tempered  as  that  of  M.  Victor  Hugo  ought  to 
have  exercised  some  influence  over  a  young  debutant ; 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  95 

but  there  was  no  trace  of  any  such  influence  in  the 
volume  then  in  the  hands  of  the  critics. 

As  for  Lord  Byron,  everybody  imitated  him  in  the 
sense  that  all  contemporary  poets  heard  his  strains  with 
emotion,  and  found  echoes  of  the  same  awakened  in 
their  own  souls.  If  Alfred  de  Musset  responded  to  him 
better  than  the  rest,  it  was  because  of  a  greater  simi- 
larity of  sentiment  and  life-experience  between  him  and 
the  English  poet.  On  certain  sides,  in  fact,  these  two 
fine  organizations  strongly  resemble  one  another.  They 
sacrifice  to  the  same  gods,  and  offer,  "  for  incense,  love 
and  grief  and  melody ;  for  a  victim,  the  poet's  heart." 
Both  liked  to  represent  themselves  in  their  fictitious 
creations,  because  this  was  the  only  method  which  made 
it  possible  for  the  poet's  heart  to  beat  under  the  drapery 
of  the  character.  In  this  respect,  neither  imitated  the 
other  \  but  they  met  upon  ground  which  Dante,  Shak- 
speare,  Moliere,  La  Fontaine,  and  many  others,  had  trav- 
ersed before  them. 

Can  it  be  necessary  now  to  say  that,  if  Alfred  de 
Musset  studied  Mathurin  Regnier  as  well  as  Fontaine, 
it  was  for  the  purpose  of  fathoming  the  true  genius  of 
our  language,  and  defending  himself  against  that  influx 
of  English  and  Germanic  elements  which  was  inundat- 
ing the  new  literature  ?  Seriously,  to  imitate  Regnier 
would  have  been  to  do  him  too  much  honor.  What  he 
liked  in  the  old  satiric  poet,  was  his  frankness  ;  and  he 
had  the  best  of  reasons  for  setting  a  high  value  on  that 
Gallic  quality,  for  he  possessed  it  himself,  and  owed  to 
it  a  large  part  of  his  power  and  influence. 

Another   reproach   in   which   several   of    his    critics 


96  Biography  of  Alfred  He  Mussei. 

united,  and  which  it  is  now  curious  to  recall,  was  this  : 
"  The  poet  of  '  Namouna,' "  said  one,  "  has  no  convic- 
tions about  any  thing.  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?  What 
are  the  objects  of  his  worship  ?  Whence  does  he  come, 
and  whither  is  he  tending  ?  In  times  as  serious  as  the 
present,  how  can  he  practise  art  merely  for  his  own 
amusement?  The  moment  is  ill  chosen  for  these  free- 
and-easy  airs  about  all  which  troubles  and  disquiets 
humanity.  If  he  believes  in  any  thing,  let  him  say  so; 
otherwise,  he  is  of  no  account  in  our  generation.  He 
is  but  a  poetical  amateur."  This  reproof  becomes  pos- 
itively comical  when  we  reflect  that  the  author  of 
"  Namouna  "  is  precisely  the  only  poet  whose  doubts 
and  anguish,  and  yearnings  toward  the  infinite  and  the 
divine,  fairly  represent  the  most  secret  history  of  the 
human  heart  in  this  age  of  scepticism.  M.  Sainte- 
Beuve,  more  sagacious  than  the  rest,  began  by  express- 
ing his  own  bewilderment  about  the  meaning  of  a  work 
which  appeared  full  of  inconsistencies  ;  but,  when  he 
had  succeeded  in  analyzing  the  great  figure  of  Don 
Juan,  he  exclaimed :  "  If  I  have  said  that  this  work 
lacks  unity,  I  retract  the  saying.  Unity  —  the  difficult 
and  impalpable  —  is  here  collected  like  a  beam  of  light, 
and  falls  full  and  with  magic  effect  upon  the  counte- 
nance in  question.     This  is  the  object  of  idolatry." 

And  yet  it  was  a  unity  whereof  only  glimpses  were 
obtained  by  clairvoyant  spirits.  It  is  not  discernible  in 
any  isolated  poem,  nor  even  in  any  one  volume  ;  but  it  is 
to  be  found  to-day  in  the  complete  works  of  the  poet. 
For  the  fifteen  years  between  1830  and  1845,  —  ^^at  is  to 
say,  from  the  "Contes  d'Espagne  "  to  "II  faut  qu'une  Porte 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  97 

soit  Ouverte  ou  Fermde," — his  last  contribution  to  the  por- 
traiture of  our  society,  short-sighted  people  never  ceased 
to  reiterate  on  the  occasion  of  every  new  book  by  Alfred 
de  Musset:  "Who  is  this  man,  and  whither  is  he  tend- 
ing?" To  which  he  might  have  replied :  "I  am  going 
where  my  age  is  going,  where  we  are  all  going,  where 
you  are  going  yourselves,  although  you  may  not  know 
it."     But  he  said  nothing,  and  that  was  better  still. 

It  may  readily  be  supposed  that  Alfred  abandoned 
the  idea  of  enlisting  in  De  Chartres'  hussars,  notwith- 
standing the  handsome  uniform  of  that  distinguished 
corps.  That  public  composed  of  the  young  of  both 
sexes  which  he  had  desired  to  please,  had  responded  to 
his  appeal.  It  was  not  precisely  for  that  public  that  he 
deliberately  undertook  the  immensely  difficult  task  of 
composing  a  poem  in  stanzas  of  six  consecutive  rhymes. 
But  his  more  serious  object  was  attained.  Shortly  after 
the  publication  of  M.  Sainte-Beuve's  article,  the  chief 
editor  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  engaged  the 
assistance  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  This  publication, 
founded  subsequently  to  the  "  Revue  de  Paris,"  had 
just  begun,  in  183 1,  to  appear  twice  a  month.  It  had  a 
formidable  opposition  to  encounter,  and  its  fortune  to 
make.  The  young  poet  promised  to  contribute  as  much 
as  he  could ;  and  the  reader  will  allow  that  the  review 
suffered  nothing  at  his  hands,  for  all  that  he  wrote 
appeared  there. 

On  the  ist  of  April,  1833,  Alfred  de  Musset  made 
his  first  appearance  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes," 
by  the  publication  of  "Andrd  del  Sarto."  The 
subject  of    this  drama  had  been  suggested  to  him  by 

7 


98  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

the  brief  notices  which  accompany  the  engravings  in 
the  "  Musee  Filhol,"  a  favorite  book  of  his,  which  he 
was  perpetually  conning.  When  he  came  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  characters  of  the  Florentine  artists  of  the 
Renascence,  he  conceived  a  strong  desire  to  visit  Italy. 
He  wanted,  he  said,  to  imitate  the  author  of  the  "  Histoire 
des  Croisades  "  who,  after  his  work  was  complete,  went 
to  the  Holy  Land  to  see  what  sort  of  places  they  really 
were  which  he  had  described. 

After  an  interval  of  six  weeks,  "  Andrd  del  Sarto " 
was  followed  by  the  "  Caprices  de  Marianne,"  the  two 
acts  of  which  were  thrown  off  in  a  kind  of  juvenile 
transport,  the  logic  of  emotion  supplying  the  place  of  a 
formal  plan.  When  he  came  to  the  famous  bottle 
scene,  and  had  put  into  Marianne's  mouth  the  tirade  in 
which  she  taunts  the  young  libertine  with  having  lips 
more  dainty  than  his  heart,  and  with  knowing  more  of 
beverages  than  of  women,  the  author  stopped  short  for 
a  while  as  though  stupefied  by  the  force  of  his  own 
reasoning.  "  It  isn't  to  be  supposed,"  said  he,  "  that  I 
am  to  be  beaten  myself  by  that  little  prude ; "  and,  after 
a  few  moments  of  reflection,  he  conceived  the  triumph- 
ant reply  of  Octave.  Now  that  this  comedy  is  fully 
accredited,  both  as  a  reading  and  acting  piece,  it  is 
played,  but  no  longer  judged.  The  first  person  who 
saw  the  printed  proofs  was  a  little  startled  by  it;  nor 
is  this  very  wonderful.  It  was  like  nothing  else  what- 
soever, —  an  impassioned  subject  impregnated  with  the 
very  quintessence  of  wit  and  fancy.  The  fragment  was 
inserted  in  the  "  Revue"  without  alteration,  but  not  with- 
out apprehension.     It  was,  however,  the  last  instance  of 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  99 

any  thing  like  hesitation  ;  and  every  thing  else  which  the 
new  poet  offered  to  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  was 
accepted  forthwith.  I  ought  also  to  add  that,  when  his 
admission  to  the  editorial  staff  of  the  magazine  awak- 
ened jealousy,  and  was  made  the  occasion  of  recrimi- 
nation, the  editor-in-chief  undertook  his  defence,  and 
insisted  upon  retaining  him,  with  a  firmness  which  he 
was  obliged  to  push  to  the  verge  of  obstinacy.  All  who 
ever  knew  Alfred  de  Musset  realize  how  like  he  was 
both  to  Octave  and  Ccelio,  although  these  two  characters 
appear  the  very  antipodes  of  one  another.  Nowhere 
but  in  himself  did  he  find  that  humor,  that  inexhaustible 
merriment,  that  careless  raillery,  which  vivify  the  scenes 
between  Octave  and  Marianne.  That  the  author  had 
such  a  side  may  readily  be  conceived  ;  but  to  under- 
stand that  the  same  man  reappears  in  Ccelio,  with  all 
his  sustained  passion,  and  the  sad  and  sweet  exaltation 
of  mind  characteristic  of  the  timid  lover,  one  must 
remember  that  love  has  a  transforming  power.  Once  in 
love,  Alfred  passed  directly  from  the  former  to  the  latter 
character.  Nor  is  it  by  any  means  incredible.  For  the 
pangs  which  our  friends  endure  when  in  love,  we  are 
readily  consoled  :  we  bear  them  like  philosophers  ;  but 
our  own  are  no  laughing  matter,  and  our  sufferings 
from  them  are  very  real.  Once  we  were  Octave,  but 
now  we  are  Ccelio.  For  the  noble  and  tender  figure 
of  Hermia,  the  author  had  not  far  to  seek.  He  had 
his  model  before  his  very  eyes  in  the  person  of  our 
mother,  always  intent  on  sparing  him  trouble,  or  add- 
ing something  to  his  comfort.  As  for  Marianne, 
when  I  asked  him  where  he  found  her,  he  answered : 


ICX)  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

"Nowhere   and    everywhere.      She    is   woman,    not  a 
woman." 

One  morning  after  the  publication  of  the  "  Caprices 
de  Marianne,"  Alfred  was  at  a  breakfast  at  the  house 
of  Mme.  Tattet,  the  mother  of  his  friend.  MM.  Sainte- 
Beuve,  Antony  Deschamps,  Ulric  Guttinguer,  and  seve- 
ral other  distinguished  literary  men  were  present.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  was  asking  Alfred  about  the  health 
of  his  mother  and  sister,  and  he  replied :  "  I  suppose 
that  they  are  well,  but  I  must  confess  that  I  have  not 
seen  them  for  twenty-four  hours."  He  was  rallied  on 
this  answer,  and  submitted  to  the  reproaches  of  his 
friends  about  his  way  of  life ;  but  insisted,  in  self- 
defence,  that  he  had  some  very  serious  ideas  in  his 
head.  At  dessert  he  was  asked  for  some  verses,  and 
recited  the  first  part  of  an  unpublished  poem.  It  was 
"  Rolla,"  about  which  he  had  as  yet  said  nothing  to  any 
one  but  his  brother.  The  company  welcomed  the  poem 
with  transports  of  delight,  and  the  author  had  the  good 
taste  not  to  revert  to  their  Ijite  friendly  remonstrances. 
He  knew  that  he  was  justified. 

"  Rolla  "  appeared  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes," 
Aug.  i6,  1833.  The  next  day,  as  Alfred  de  Musset  was 
going  in  to  the  opera,  he  flung  away  a  cigar  on  the  steps 
of  the  theatre,  and  then  saw  a  young  man  who  was  fol- 
lowing him  stoop  instantly,  pick  up  the  fragment,  and 
carefully  wrap  it  in  paper.  He  has  told  me  a  great 
many  times  that  no  compliment,  or  badge  of  reward,  or- 
distinction,  ever  touched  his  heart  like  that  simple  tes- 
timonial of  sympathy  and  admiration. 

At  this  period,  Alfred  met  for  the  first  time  a  person 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  loi 

who  was  destined  to  exercise  a  considerable  influence 
over  his  life,  and  leave  a  deep  impression  on  his  works. 
It  was  at  a  great  dinner  given  to  the  editors  of  the 
"  Revue  "  at  the  Frbres  Provengaux.  The  guests  were 
many,  and  among  them  there  was  one  woman,  next 
whom  Alfred  sat  at  table.  She  simply  and  pleasantly 
invited  him  to  call  on  her ;  and,  after  going  two  or  three 
times  at  intervals  of  a  week,  he  became  a  constant 
guest.  Some  of  his  intimate  friends  were  also  on 
familiar  terms  there,  and  among  them  Gustave  Planche. 
This  cynical  individual,  who  had  neither  tact  nor  good 
sense,  had  usurped  a  position  which  rendered  him  very 
annoying.  He  assumed  airs  of  familiarity  to  which  he 
had  no  sort  of  right,  took  the  tone  of  a  master,  and 
affected  an  ease  which  the  mistress  of  the  house  endured, 
out  of  weakness  and  good-nature,  but  with  concealed 
impatience,  as  Mme.  D'Epinay  endured  Duclos.  Alfred, 
who  knew  Planche  thoroughly,  advised  him  to  alter  his 
manner.  Planche  pretended  not  to  understand  the  hint, 
and  it  became  necessary  to  be  more  explicit  about  the 
estimation  in  which  he  was  held.  Instead  of  changing 
his  tone,  he  retired  furious,  and  bore  my  brother  an  in- 
extinguishable grudge  ever  after. 

The  salon  from  which  Gustave  Planche  withdrew  into 
exile  lost  nothing  by  his  departure.  Conversation  never 
languished  there,  and  it  was  a  scene  of  reckless  gayety. 
I  have  never  seen  so  lively  a  circle,  or  one  which  cared 
so  little  for  the  rest  of  the  world.  There  were  chat,  and 
sketching,  and  music.  On  certain  days,  the  company 
disguised  themselves  and  played  different  parts.  They 
met  in  little  committees  and  invented  all  manner  of  en- 


I02  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

tertainments,  less  through  dread  of  ennui  than  overflow 
of  animal  spirits.  One  day  they  took  it  into  their  heads 
to  give  an  aesthetic  dinner,  with  a  tinge  of  politics  and 
philosophy.  The  invited  guests  were  certain  editors  of 
the  "  Revue/'  and,  among  others,  Lerminier  the  pro- 
fessor of  philosophy.  In  order  to  provide  him  with  a 
suitable  companion,  they  invited  Debureau,  the  incompa- 
rable Pierrot  of  the  "  Funambules."  Debureau,  who  was 
usually  seen  clothed  in  white  and  powdered  with  flour, 
put  on  for  the  occasion  a  black  coat,  a  shirt  with  a  very 
full  ruffle,  a  stiff  starched  cravat,  pumps,  and  tight  gloves. 
He  was  ordered  to  personate  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  English  House  of  Commons,  passing  through  France 
on  his  way  to  Austria,  with  extremely  secret  instructions 
from  Lord  Grey.  When  they  were  in  full  swing,  Alfred 
wanted  a  part  assigned  him,  and  adopted  that  of  a  young 
supplementary  servant-girl,  freshly  arrived  from  Nor- 
mandy. He  donned  the  peasant  woman's  short  petticoat, 
ribbed  stockings,  short  sleeves,  and  cross  suspended 
from  the  neck.  His  rosy  cheeks  and  blonde  hair  cor- 
responded with  this  picturesque  costume ;  and  when  he 
had  shaved  off  his  moustache  he  looked  like  a  fine  slip 
of  a  girl,  not  too  clever. 

On  the  day  appointed  the  guests  arrived,  to  the  num- 
ber, if  I  remember  rightly,  of  seven  or  eight.  Debureau, 
as  became  so  considerable  a  personage,  arrived  fifteen 
minutes  later  than  the  hour  named.  The  guests  were 
presented  to  him,  and  he  responded  to  their  salutations 
by  slight  bows,  after  which  he  planted  himself  before  the 
fireplace,  where  he  stood,  stiff  as  a  statue,  with  his  hands 
behind   his   back,  in   glum  silence.     There  was  great 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset,  103 

curiosity  to  see  the  author  of  "  Rolla ; "  but  at  half-past 
six,  Alfred  de  Musset  had  not  arrived,  and  they  sat  down 
at  table,  leaving  his  place  vacant.  The  place  of  honor 
was  assigned  to  the  Englishman,  who  opened  his  mouth 
only  to  eat  and  drink,  but  that  largely.  Nobody  recog- 
nized Pierrot.  In  order  to  give  him  free  play,  and  Ler- 
minier  a  chance  to  display  his  knowledge,  they  turned 
the  conversation  upon  politics.  But  vain  were  all  allu- 
sions to  Robert  Peel,  Lord  Stanley,  and  the  other 
renowned  statesmen  of  Great  Britain.  The  foreign 
diplomat  replied  only  in  monosyllables.  At  last,  how- 
ever, somebody  used  the  phrase,  "the  equilibrium  of 
Europe;"  whereupon  the  Englishman  waved  his  hand  as 
if  about  to  speak. 

"Would  you  like  to  know,"  said  he,  "what  I  un- 
derstand by  *  the  equilibrium  of  Europe,'  in  the  present 
portentous  state  of  English  and  continental  politics? 
Observe  me.     I  will  illustrate." 

The  diplomat  took  a  plate,  flung  it  into  the  air  with  a 
rotary  motion,  and  then  caught  it  adroitly  on  the  point  of 
his  knife,  where  it  continued  to  spin,  but  kept  its  balance 
to  the  great  admiration  of  the  spectators.  "There," 
said  Debureau,  "  is  an  emblem  of  European  equilibrium. 
There  is  no  security  elsewhere." 

A  universal  peal  of  laughter  succeeded,  and  it  was 
redoubled  when  the  hostess  had  named  Debureau.  But 
the  young  girl  from  Caux,  whose  taking  ways  had  been 
remarked  by  some  of  the  guests,  did  nothing  but  blunder 
from  the  commencement  of  the  dinner.  She  dropped 
whatever  she  touched,  put  the  plates  upon  the  table 
wrong  side  up  j  brought  a  knife  when  a  fork  was  re- 


I04  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

quested,  and  vice  versd.  The  reproofs  of  her  mistress 
appeared  to  embarrass  her,  and  increase  her  awkward- 
ness. At  the  moment,  however,  when  the  English- 
man gave  such  energetic  expression  to  his  views  on 
the  balance  of  power,  the  young  waitress,  the  better 
to  testify  her  participation  in  the  general  hilarity, 
seized  a  carafe  as  though  she  would  drain  it,  and  then 
poured  the  water  upon  the  head  of  Lerminier,  who 
began  to  swear  at  the  pestiferous  Normande.  Alfred 
then  took  his  place  at  table,  still  in  his  peasant  cos- 
tume, and  partook  of  his  share  of  the  dinner  which  he 
had  served  so  ill.  The  reader  can  guess  whether  the 
remainder  of  the  evening  was  lively.  The  story  made 
so  much  noise  at  the  time  that  a  good  many  Parisians 
still  remember  it. 

The  same  individuals  will  perhaps  recall  an  almost 
forgotten  writer  by  the  name  of  Chaudesaigues  who  was 
then  attempting  literary  criticism  in  the  "Revue  de 
Paris,"  and  some  other  journals.  Having  neither  much 
talent  nor  much  influence,  he  was  a  little  envious  and 
too  simple  to  conceal  the  fact.  He  was  a  tall,  pale 
youth,  with  a  face  like  the  pictures  of  Christ,  and  he 
stammered  in  talking.  One  day  he  came  to  make  a 
call  in  the  drawing-room  where  Debureau  had  figured  as 
a  diplomat.  Near  him  in  an  arm-chair  Chaudesaigues 
saw  a  fair-complexioned  young  man,  who  spoke  never  a 
word,  but  left  the  talk  to  him.  He  began  an  exceedingly 
knowing  criticism  of  "  RoUa,"  "  Namouna,"  and  the  rest, 
without  a  suspicion  of  the  general  enthusiasm  about 
verses  which  he  himself  could  barely  tolerate.  The 
blonde  youth  smiled   encouragement,  seconded  all  his 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  105 

remarks,  and  accompanied  with  nods  of  approbation  the 
discourse  of  the  iconoclast.  Thus  supported,  Chaude- 
saigues  was  proceeding  to  personal  criticism,  when  the 
mistress  of  the  house  abruptly  interrupted  him  with, 
"  I  have  the  honor  of  presenting  to  you  M.  Alfred  de 
Musset,  whose  acquaintance  I  have  long. wished  you 
to  make." 

Chaudesaigues  stammered,  seized  his  hat,  and  rushed 
for  the  door,  amid  irrepressible  laughter.  But  he  was 
a  better  fellow  than  Gustave  Planche.  He  returned 
and  begged  pardon  for  his  offence,  when  he  might 
justly  have  complained  that  a  malicious  trick  had 
been  played  upon  himself.  They  gave  him  the  right 
hand  of  fellowship  and  he  was  admitted  to  a  coterie 
where  he  continued  to  afford  amusement  by  further 
blunders. 

It  would  seem  as  if  a  relation  which  insured  so  merry 
a  life,  where  talent,  wit,  grace,  youth,  and  good-humor 
were  thrown  into  a  common  stock,  ought  never  to  have 
been  dissolved.  Especially  would  it  seem  as  if  people 
who  were  so  happy  could  not  have  done  better  than 
remain  in  an  establishment  which  they  had  succeeded 
in  rendering  so  attractive  to  themselves  and  others. 
But  no :  unrest,  the  foe  of  all  well-being,  and  an  in- 
comprehensible turbulence  of  spirit  seized  upon  them, 
and  they  began  to  pine  for  a  wider  sphere  than  a 
small  salon  in  the  first  city  of  the  world.  That  city 
became  in  their  eyes  no  better  than  a  heap  of  crum- 
bling, smoking  ruins,  from  which  they  must  needs  es- 
cape. They  essayed  at  first  an  excursion  to  Fontaine- 
bleau  3  but  it  did  not  suffice,  and  as  winter  approached 


106  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

they  talked  of  Italy.  Their  talk  soon  resolved  itself 
into  a  scheme  of  travel,  and  the  project  became  a 
fixed  idea.^ 

'  It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to  say  that  M.  Paul  de  Musset  here  de- 
scribes, with  a  somewhat  superfluous  air  of  mystery,  the  beginning  of  the 
too  famous  relation  between  Alfred  de  Musset  and  George  Sand.  —  Tr. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  107 


VII. 

A  LFRED  DE  MUSSET  felt  that  his  Italian  journey 
-^-^  must  remain  but  a  half-formed  purpose  until  he 
had  obtained  his  mother's  consent.  One  morning,  at 
the  family  breakfast  he  appeared  preoccupied.  I  knew 
what  was  on  his  mind,  and  was  hardly  less  agitated  than 
he.  On  rising  from  the  table,  he  sauntered  about  with 
an  air  of  hesitation.  At  last  he  plucked  up  courage, 
and  made  a  cautious  official  announcement  of  his  in- 
tentions, adding  that  his  plans  were  subject  to  his 
mother's  approbation.  His  request  was  received  like  a 
piece  of  undeniably  bad  news.  "  Never,"  said  our 
mother,  "  will  I  give  my  consent  to  a  journey  which  I  re- 
gard as  a  dangerous  and  fatal  thing.  I  know  that  my 
opposition  will  be  overruled,  and  that  you  will  go ;  but 
it  will  be  against  my  wishes  and  without  my  sanction." 

For  a  short  time,  he  hoped  to  overcome  this  resistance 
by  explaining  on  what  conditions  the  trip  was  to  be 
made  ;  but,  when  he  saw  that  his  pertinacity  served  but 
to  excite  a  flood  of  tears,  he  immediately  altered  his  de- 
termination and  sacrificed  his  project.  "  Reassure  your- 
self," he  said  to  his  mother,  "  I  will  not  go.  If  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  somebody  should  weep,  it  shall 
not  be  you." 

And  he  actually  went  out  to  countermand  the  prepar- 
atory orders  which  he  had  given.  The  same  evening, 
at  about  nine  o'clock,  our  mother  was  sitting  with  her 


io8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

daughter  by  the  fire,  when  word  was  brought  her  that  a 
lady  was  waiting  outside  in  a  hackney-coach  and  very 
anxious  to  speak  with  her.  Our  mother  went  down  ac- 
companied by  a  servant,  and  the  unknown  lady  gave  her 
name.  She  then  entreated  the  anxious  mother  to  entrust 
her  son  to  her,  promising  that  she  would  herself  show 
him  a  mother's  care  and  tenderness.  Promises  not 
proving  sufficient,  she  proceeded  to  vows.  She  em- 
ployed all  her  eloquence,  and  it  must  have  been  great 
to  have  secured  her  success  in  such  an  enterprise. 
In  a  moment  of  emotion,  consent  was  extorted ;  and 
for  all  Alfred  had  said,  our  mother  was  the  one  to 
weep. 

On  a  foggy,  melancholy  evening,  I  accompanied  the 
travellers  to  the  mail  coach,  where  they  took  their  places 
amid  all  sorts  of  evil  omens.  When  people  whom  every- 
body knows  undertake  to  travel  together  in  this  way, 
they  may  be  sure  that  their  reputation  has  everywhere 
preceded  them,  and  that  mystery  is  out  of  the  question. 
Any  one  must  have  been  mad  to  suppose  that  such  an 
expedition  could  remain  a  secret.  Their  purpose  was 
neither  to  avoid  the  judgment  of  the  public  nor  to  defy 
it,  but  simply  to  submit  to  it ;  or  rather  they  did  not 
think  about  it  at  all.  It  can  be  no  more  of  a  secret  to- 
day than  the  plot  of  a  comedy ;  and,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  that  comedy  was  a  drama.  I  am  not  going  to 
rehearse  it.  I  shall  only  relate  such  circumstances  as  I 
learned  at  a  distance  of  three  hundred  leagues,  and 
which  I  should  have  known  in  any  case,  even  if  I  had 
received  no  confidences. 

Alfred's  first  letter  to  his  family  was  dated  at  Mar- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  109 

seilles.  He  was  rejoiced  to  have  fallen  in  with  Stendhal 
(Henri  Beyle),  who  was  leaving  for  his  consulate  at 
Civita  Vecchia,  and  whose  caustic  wit  had  enlivened 
the  journey.  The  second  letter,  dated  at  Genoa,  con- 
tained some  details  about  manners,  costumes,  the  women, 
and  the  famous  picture  galleries  of  that  city,  and  also 
an  account  of  a  walk  in  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Pala- 
vicini,  where  Alfred  had  sat  down  to  rest  in  a  delicious 
spot  beside  a  fountain,  which  was  a  great  favorite  with 
tourists.  Other  letters  from  Florence  informed  us  that 
he  had  found  in  the  Florentine  "  Chronicles "  the 
subject  for  a  drama  in  five  acts,  and  was  enjoying  visit- 
ing the  public  squares  and  palaces  which  he  meant  to 
make  the  scenes  of  his  characters'  action.  This  was 
the  drama  of  "  Lorenzaccio." 

From  Bologna  and  Ferrara,  which  he  merely  passed 
through  on  his  way  to  Venice,  he  did  not  write  at  all ;  but 
on  his  arrival  at  the  death-struck  city  of  the  doges,  he  fell 
into  transports  of  childlike  delight.  The  room  which  he 
occupied  in  the  Danieli  palace,  on  the  Molo  degli  Schia- 
voni,  seemed  to  him  to  merit  a  full  description.  He 
never  wearied,  he  said,  of  gazing  on  those  ceilings  under 
which  the  head  of  some  great  Venetian  family  must 
have  walked  long  ago,  or  of  contemplating,  through  the 
window,  the  entrance  to  the  grand  canal  and  the  dome 
of  La  Salute.  He  knew  that  he  should  not  be  able  to 
resist  the  temptation  of  laying  amid  these  surroundings 
the  scene  of  a  romance  or  comedy;  and  he  therefore 
took  notes  on  Venetian  customs  and  peculiarities  of 
dialect,  and  made  his  gondolier  chatter  incessantly. 

Near  the  middle  of  February,  the  letters  which  had 


no  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

arrived  regularly  up  to  that  time  suddenly  ceased. 
After  a  silence  of  six  mortal  weeks,  our  mother  and  I 
had  determined  to  set  out  for  Italy  ourselves,  when  a 
letter  was  forwarded  to  us,  which  only  added  to  our 
anxiety  by  its  altered  handwriting,  its  tone  of  profound 
sadness,  and  the  deplorable  news  which  it  contained. 
The  poor  boy,  hardly  recovered  from  an  attack  of  brain 
fever,  spoke  of  dragging  himself  home  as  best  he  might. 
He  wished,  he  said,  to  leave  Venice  as  soon  as  he  was 
strong  enough  to  get  into  a  carriage.  "  I  shall  bring 
you  a  sick  body,  a  depressed  mind,  and  a  bleeding 
heart,  but  one  which  loves  you  still."  He  owed  his 
life  to  the  devoted  care  of  two  people  who  never  left 
his  pillow  until  youth  and  nature  had  fairly  van- 
quished his  malady.  For  hours  he  had  lain  in  the 
very  grasp  of  death,  and  had  been  conscious  of  it 
himself,  in  the  midst  of  his  strange  and  utter  prostra- 
tion. He  attributed  his  cure,  in  part,  to  a  soothing 
potion,  opportunely  administered  by  a  young  physician 
of  Venice;  and  he  wanted  to  keep  the  prescription  for  the 
draught.  "  It  is  a  powerful  narcotic,"  he  added,  "  bitter 
like  every  thing  which  that  man  gave  me,  —  even  the  life 
which  I  owe  to  him."  The  prescription  was  actually 
found  among  Alfred's  papers,  with  the  signature  of 
Pagello.^ 

The  sick  man's  return  was  heralded  by  a  letter 
which  plainly  revealed  his  nervous  irritability.  "  For 
pity's  sake,"  he  said,  "  put  me  in  some  other  room  than 
my  own.     At  the  bare  idea  of  awaking  to  the  sight  of 

'  During  a  trip  which  I  made  to  Venice  in  1863,  I  ascertained  that  M. 
Pagello  was  still  living  and  practising  medicine  at  Bellune.  —  P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  in 

that  hideous,  crude,  green  paper.  I  shrink  as  if  the 
four  walls  were  hung  with  ennui  and  disappointment." 

To  humor  his  invalid  fancy,  I  determined  to  give  him 
my  room,  which  had  two  windows  looking  into  the  gar- 
den, and  a  paper  of  a  peculiarly  subdued  tone.  On  the 
loth  of  April  the  poor  prodigal  arrived,  very  much 
changed  and  emaciated ;  but,  once  under  his  mother's 
wing,  recovery  was  only  a  matter  of  time.  The  severity 
of  his  attack  may,  however,  be  inferred  from  the  slow^- 
ness  of  his  recovery,  and  the  psychological  phenomena 
by  which  it  was  accompanied. 

The  first  time  that  my  brother  tried  to  tell  us  the 
true  story  of  his  illness,  and  his  return  to  Paris,  I  per- 
ceived his  face  change  suddenly,  and  he  fainted  away. 
He  had  an  alarming  nervous  attack,  and  a  month 
elapsed  before  he  was  able  to  recur  to  the  subject  and 
finish  his  recital. 

Alfred  kept  his  room  for  a  long  time,  leaving  it  only 
in  the  evening  to  play  chess  with  our  mother.  He  had 
brought  from  Italy  a  sort  of  servant,  a  hair-dresser  by 
trade,  who  had  taken  tolerably  good  care  of  him  on  the 
journey,  without  knowing  a  word  of  French.  The  lad 
was  a  poor  enough  valet ;  but  his  services  were  agree- 
able to  Alfred,  who  often  summoned  Antonio  and  made 
him  talk  the  dialect  of  his  country.  Antonio,  however, 
contracted  in  these  interviews  a  home-sickness  so  in- 
tense that  it  became  necessary  to  send  him  back  to 
Venice  ;  and  one  morning  he  accordingly  departed  with 
a  load  of  empty  phials  and  old  pommade-pots,  which  he 
proposed  to  fill  with  lard  and  spirits  of  wine,  and  sell  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  lagoons  as  specimens  of  Paris 
perfumery. 


112  BiograpJiy  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Our  little  sister,  child  as  she  was,  already  played  the 
piano  very  well.  We  observed  that  Hummel's  fine 
concerto  in  B  minor  had  the  power  of  luring  the  sick 
man  from  his  retreat.  When  he  had  been  shut  up  a 
good  while,  I  used  to  ask  for  the  Hummel  concerto,  and 
after  a  few  minutes  we  would  hear  him  open  his  door. 
Then  he  would  come  and  sit  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
drawing-room,  and  when  the  piece  was  finished  we  often 
succeeded  in  detaining  him  by  talking  of  music ;  but  if 
a  word  recalled  his  trouble  he  would  return  to  his  cham- 
ber for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

When  his  craving  for  solitude  was  partially  appeased, 
he  opened  his  doors  to  his  friend  Tattet  and  myself, 
from  whom  he  had  nothing  to  conceal.  We  sometimes 
passed  whole  days  in  the  invalid's  chamber,  and  even- 
ings which  might  as  well  be  called  nights.  At  first, 
Alfred  was  determined  to  be  brave.  He  thought  that 
pride  would  serve  his  turn,  and  plainly  counted  on  that 
for  subduing  his  grief  and  his  regrets.  But  he  was  not 
long  in  recognizing  the  impotence  of  this  auxiliary,  and 
then  he  thrust  it  away  as  a  futile  point  of  honor.  After 
a  while  he  allowed  us  to  see  the  depth  of  the  wound 
which  he  had  received.  Despite  the  fearful  memories 
which  oppressed  him,  he  hugged  his  grief,  and  sometimes 
he  was  angry  with  us  for  venturing  to  chide  him  on  this 
head.  At  times  he  was  morose,  as  though  his  very 
nature  were  changed.  He  suspected  us  of  I  know  not 
what  treachery,  or  accused  us  of  utter  indifference  ;  and 
then,  all  in  a  moment,  he  would  take  shame  for  his  sus- 
picions, and  revile  himself  for  ingratitude  with  such 
exaggerated  vehemence,  that  we  could  hardly  soothe 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  113 

him.  As  for  those  who  had  destroyed  his  peace,  it  was 
not  enough  for  him  to  forgive  them.  He  tried  to  find 
excuses  or  at  least  extenuating  circumstances,  for  them  : 
so  sick  was  he  at  heart,  so  fearful  that  the  courier  from 
Venice  would  bring  him  no  more  letters.  He  wrote 
several,  in  which  he  did  not  hesitate  to  take  all  the 
blame  to  himself;  some  of  them  contained  verses.^ 

When  it  became  known  in  Paris  that  Alfred  de 
Musset  had  returned  without  the  companion  with  whom 
he  had  set  out  on  his  travels,  the  matter  gave  rise  to 
much  conjecture,  and  fables  .were  invented  which  bore 
no  resemblance  to  the  truth.  Alfred  got  wind  of  the 
gossip,  and  spared  no  pains  to  deny  whatever  might 
prove  injurious  to  the  lady  whom  he  had  left  at  Venice. 
In  this  respect,  he  merely  did  his  duty  as  a  chivalrous 
man  :  but  he  could  not  conceal  his  depression,  nor  the 
alteration  in  his  looks  \  and  malicious  conjectures  con- 
tinued to  be  raised  in  spite  of  him. 

If  we  would  know  his  real  state  of  mind  during  this 
time  of  trial,  it  is  to  himself  that  we  must  apply  for  a 
faithful  picture  of  it ;  we  must  give  place  to  the  patient, 
and  hear  him  in  his  own  words.  This  is  what  he  wrote 
on  the  subject  in  1839,  —  after  a  lapse  of  five  years  : 

"  I  thought  at  first  that  I  felt  neither  mortification  nor 
regret  at  being  deserted.  I  took  my  leave  proudly ;  but,  when 
I  came  to  look  about  me,  I  beheld  a  desert.     An  unexpected 

1  In  1859,  I  requested  the  person  with  whom  these  letters  were  deposited 
to  return  them  to  the  family  of  the  deceased  poet.  He  calmly  replied  that 
the  sacred  trust  had  been  violated,  and  the  letters  restored  to  the  hands  of 
one  who  should  never  have  seen  them  again.  I  inquired  what  had  become 
of  them,  and  learned  that  they  had  been  burned.  I  have  in  reserve  a  pack- 
age of  autograph  letters  on  this  subject.  —  P.  M. 


114  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

anguish  seized  me.  My  thoughts  seemed  all  to  be  falling 
around  me  like  dead  leaves  ;  and  a  feeling,  hitherto  unknown, 
awoke  in  my  heart, — a  feeling  excruciatingly  tender  and 
strange  and  sad.  I  saw  that  I  was  powerless  to  struggle, 
and  I  gave  myself  up  to  despairing  sorrow.  I  broke  off  all 
my  customary  occupations,  and  shut  myself  up  in  my  cham- 
ber. There  I  stayed  and  wept  for  four  months,  seeing  no 
one,  and  having  no  diversion  save  a  mechanical  game  of 
chess  in  the  evening. 

"  Little  by  little,  however,  my  sorrow  was  assuaged,  my 
tears  were  dried,  my  nights  were  no  longer  sleepless.  I  fell 
in  love  with  melancholy.  In  this  quieter  mood  I  looked  back 
aft  what  I  had  left.  No  remnant  of  the  past  remained,  — 
nothing  at  least  which  could  be  recognized.  An  old  picture, 
a  tragedy  which  I  knew  by  heart,  an  utterly  hackneyed  ro- 
mance, a  talk  with  a  friend,  afforded  me  surprise.  Such 
things  had  a  new  meaning  :  I  knew  then  what  experience  is, 
^nd  I  saw  that  sorrow  teaches  us  truth. 

"  That  was  a  noble  moment  in  my  life.  I  love  to  pause  at 
it ;  a  hard  but  noble  moment.  I  have  not  told  you  the  par- 
ticulars of  my  passion.  The  story,  if  I  were  to  tell  it  you, 
would  prove  very  like  another  ;  and  what  would  be  the  use  ? 
My  mistress  was  dark  :  she  had  large  eyes.  I  loved  her  and 
she  deserted  me,  and  I  suffered  and  wept  for  four  months. 
Will  not  that  suffice  ? 

"  I  presently  perceived  the  change  which  was  being  wrought 
in  me  ;  but  it  was  as  yet  far  from  complete.  One  does  not 
become  a  man  in  a  day.  I  began  by  indulging  a  ridiculous 
exaltation  :  I  wrote  letters  after  the  manner  of  Rousseau,  — 
no  matter  about  all  that  analysis  !  My  sensitive  and  inquis- 
itive spirit  trembled  incessantly  hke  the  magnetic  needle  ; 
but  what  matter,  if  the  pole  is  found  ?  I  had  long  been 
dreaming  :  now  I  began  to  think.  I  tried  to  say  as  little  as 
possible,  but  I  went  back  to  the  world.  I  wanted  to  see  and 
learn  things  anew, 

"  One  is  captious  when  one  is  suffering.  Sorrow  is  not 
easy  to  suit.     I  began  like  Cervantes'  curd,  by  purging  my 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  115 

library  and  consigning  my  idols  to  the  garret.  I  had  in  my 
room  a  good  many  lithographs  and  engravings,  the  best  of 
which  now  seemed  to  me  hideous.  I  did  not  care  to  climb  a 
staircase  to  rid  myself  of  these.  I  was  content  to  put  them 
in  the  fire.  When  my  sacrifices  were  achieved,  I  counted  up 
what  remained.  It  was  not  much,  but  that  little  inspired  me 
with  a  certain  respect.  My  empty  bookcase  annoyed  me  ; 
and  I  replaced  it  by  one  three  feet  broad,  and  containing  three 
shelves,  where  slowly  and  reflectively  I  arranged  a  small  num- 
ber of  volumes.  My  frames,  on  the  contrary,  remained  empty 
a  good  while.  Six  months  elapsed  before  I  could  fill  them 
to  my  taste,  and  then  I  put  in  them  old  engravings  from 
Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo."  ^ 

All  these  details  are  precisely  true.  I  was  present  at 
the  auto-dafd  of  the  engravings,  and  the  dismantling  of 
the  library.  The  books  which  he  kept,  and  which  he 
called  his  old  friends,  were  the  French  classics  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  Sophocles,  Aristophanes,  Horace, 
Shakspeare,  Byron,  Goethe,  the  four  great  poets  of 
Italy  in  one  volume,  Boccaccio,  Rabelais,  Mathurin 
Regnier,  Montaigne,  Amyot's  Plutarch,  and  Andrd 
Chenier.  Leopardi's  little  volume  was  afterwards  added 
to  this  choice  collection.  The  frames  had  been  vacant 
a  good  while  when  Tattet  brought  him,  one  day,  a  very 
fine  engraving  of  Raphael's  Saint  Cecilia. 

*'  I  hope,"  said  he,  "  that  this  master  will  find  favor 
with  your  severity." 

Alfred  admired  the  engraving,  and  wished  himself  to 
frame  it ;  and  before  long  there  grouped  themselves 
around  the  Cecilia,  the  Virgins  of  the  Chair  and  the 
Candles,  the  Poetry  of  the  Vatican,  Saint  Catherine  of 

■  From  an  unpublished  work  of  Alfred  de  Musset's,  entitled  "  Le  Poete 
Dechu." 


Ii6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Alexandria,  Michael  Angelo's  Surprise,^  and  the  Goliath 
of  Giulio  Romano.  Titian  and  Rubens  were  not  admitted 
until  long  after. 

When  first  our  invalid  had  consented  to  seek  for  some 
amusement  away  from  home,  he  said,  as  he  was  dressing : 
"  Now  that  I  am  going  to  plunge  again  into  the  stream 
of  life,  I  feel  a  mixture  of  joy  and  dread,  for  it  seems 
as  though  the  unknown  were  before  me.  I  am  like  a 
goldsmith,  who  cautiously  rubs  a  gold  ring  on  his  touch- 
stone. I  am  going  to  test  every  thing  by  my  own  half- 
closed  wound." 

And  the  first  time  that  he  returned  from  a  visit  where 
the  conversation  had  been  such  as  to  make  him  forget 
his  troubles,  he  experienced  a  sort  of  shame.'  "  Such  is 
human  misery,"  said  he.  "  A  grief  which  has  become 
torpid  is  as  like  enjoyment  as  a  new  pleasure." 

When  we  asked  him  whether  the  desire  to  produce 
something  would  not  soon  revive,  his  answer  was : 
"  The  desire  ?  you  mean  the  faculty  of  production.  I 
know  nothing  at  all  about  it.  I  am  just  as  incompre- 
hensible to  myself  as  to  others.  I  tremble  already 
when  I  think  how  bad  the  first  verse  which  occurs  to 
me  will  look  the  next  day  .when  I  come  to  examine  it 
coolly." 

We  urged  him  as  a  mere  pastime  and  proof  of  his 
mental  recovery  to  write  a  prose  proverb ;  and  the  lead- 
ing editor  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  showed 
him  many  marks  of  friendship.     Naturally  obliging,  he 

'  Apparently  the  engraving  by  Marc  Antonio  of  certain  figures,  from 
the  cartoon  of  the  Battle  of  Pisa,  of  soldiers  surprised  while  bathing  in  the 
Amo.  —  Tr. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  Wj 

did  not  like  to  refuse ;  and,  the  editor  needing  something 
of  an  imaginative  character  for  the  magazine,  Alfred 
made  an  effort  to  resume  work.  Some  time  before,  he 
had  sketched  in  a  few  lines  the  plan  of  a  comedy,  to 
which  he  had  given  the  provisional  title  of  "  Camille  et 
Perdican."  He  had  even  written  an  introduction  to  it 
in  verse ;  but  nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  com- 
pel his  Muse  to  descend  by  means  of  exorcisms,  and  he 
therefore  translated  his  verses  into  prose.^ 

The  piece  which  was  entitled,  "  On  ne  badine  pas 
avec  I'Amour,"  bears  marks,  in  some  places,  of  the  moral 
condition  of  the  author.  The  singular  character  of 
Camille,  certain  speeches  of  Perdican's  which  are  marked 
by  a  melancholy  tenderness,  and  the  conflict  of  pride 
between  the  two,  suggest  the  influence  of  the  sad  recol- 
lections to  which  the  poet  had  succumbed ;  but  the 
whole  piece,  from  beginning  to  end,  is  imbued  with  a 
passion  and  fervor  of  feeling,  before  which  the  "  Depit 
Amoureux"  of  Molibre  —  the  subject  of  which  bears 
some  resemblance  to  the  loving  strife  of  Camille  and 
Perdican  —  turns  positively  pale. 

Before  he  went  to  Italy,  Alfred  de  Musset  had  sent  to 
M.  Buloz  the  MS.  of  "  Fantasio,"  and  this  comedy  had 
been  published  in  his  absence.  Those  who  had  the  good 
fortune  to  know  the  author  in  the  flower  of  his  youth, 
and  his  youthful  follies,  know  how  faithfully  he  has  de- 
picted himself  in  the  original  character  of  "  Fantasio." 
But  that  which,  in  the  comedy,  suffices  for  a  whole 
character,  a  perfect  type,  and  the  subject  of  a  piece, 

1  The  poetical  form  of  the  introduction  to  this  comedy  was  published  in 
the  large  quarto  edition  of  1866. 


ii8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

is  found,  when  we  examine  the  original  closely,  to  con- 
stitute but  a  single  facet  of  a  brilliant  mind,  and  one  out 
of  a  thousand  of  the  deep  recesses  of  his  heart.  The 
Emperor  Napoleon  was  right  when,  in  a  conversation  on 
literary  matters  with  the  renowned  Goethe,  he  said  that 
there  is  not  time  in  an  acting  play  to  develop  a  com- 
plex character,  with  all  its  apparent  contradictions,  its 
delicate  shades,  and  infinitely  multiplied  incongruities ; 
and  that,  if  we  would  not  confuse  the  spectator,  we  must 
represent  only  simple  and  legible  characters,  the  clew  to 
which  is  given  in  the  first  word  they  speak.  Only  in 
a  biography  and  after  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  can  it  be 
fully  and  convincingly  shown  that  the  tender  Ccelio,  the 
epicurean  Octave,  the  frivolous  Valentin,  the  light- 
hearted  Fantasio,  the  impassioned  Fortunio,  and  the 
philosopher  in  the  "  Confession  d'un  Enfant  du  Sibcle," 
were  one  and  the  same  man. 

A  more  sustained  work  than  the  story  of  the  loves  of 
Camille  and  Perdican  had  been  offered  to  the  "  Revue 
des  Deux  Mondes,"  but  not  inserted  ;  namely,  the  drama 
of  "  Lorenzaccio."  Probably  it  was  thought  too  long ; 
or  it  may  be  that  the  editor  preferred  to  reserve  it  unpub- 
lished for  the  collected  dramatic  works  brought  out  in 
book  form  by  the  house  which  issued  the  "  Revue."  ^ 

In  order  to  surmount  the  melancholy  which,  under 
the  guise  of  constancy  in  love,  still  weighed  his  spirits 
down,  Alfred  undertook,  in  the  month  of  September, 
a  journey  to  Baden.  The  trip  proved  most  benefi- 
cial ;  and  he  returned  perfectly  restored,  both  in  mind 

1  "  Un  Spectacle  dans  un  Fauteuil."  Prose,  2  vols.  8vo.  Paris  and 
London:  1834. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  119 

and  body.  He  was  engaged  in  writing  out  that  grace- 
ful episode  of  his  "  Sentimental  Journey,"  which  he 
entitled  "  Une  bonne  Fortune,"  when  an  unlucky  acci- 
dent destroyed  the  favorable  effect  of  the  journey,  and 
the  fruits  of  six  months  of  struggle  and  reflection.  The 
return  of  a  person  whom  he  had  wished  never  to  see 
again,  but  of  whom  he  was  forced  to  see  much,  plunged 
him  anew  into  a  life  so  full  of  exciting  scenes  and  pain- 
ful discussions  that  the  poor  boy  had  a  relapse,  from 
which  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  recover.  Neverthe- 
less, he  drew  from  his  very  malady  the  means  of  cure. 
Where  reason  did  not  avail,  suspicion  and  incredulity 
saved  him.  He  wearied  of  emphatic  recriminations,  and 
resolved  to  shake  off  that  unwholesome  regime.  A  final 
rupture  took  place  in  1835,  as  the  result  of  some  trifling 
disagreement ;  and  this  time,  instead  of  abandoning  him- 
self to  the  voice  of  his  grief,  the  patient  consented  to 
seek  distraction.  The  world  did  not  wish  to  lose  him, 
his  friends  entreated  him  to  take  part  in  their  amuse- 
ments, and  he  yielded. 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  a  party  of  pleasure 
where  the  wine,  by  rendering  fools  more  loquacious,  is 
productive  only  of  noise  and  coarseness  in  speech,  and 
a  supper  among  choice  spirits  animated  by  good  cheer, 
who  recite  verses,  give  excellent  music,  improvise  songs, 
and  exchange  the  gayest  of  sallies.  A  great  deal  has 
been  said  about  the  reunions  of  which  Prince  Belgiojoso 
was  the  soul ;  and  some  people  have  been  pleased  to  re- 
mark that  Alfred  de  Musset  there  plunged  into  excesses 
extremely  dangerous  for  a  poet.  It  is  a  most  absurd 
exaggeration.     The  greater  part  of  these  "excesses," 


120  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

reduce  themselves  to  entirely  simple  dinners  after  swim- 
ming parties ;  and  even  in  carnival  times,  when  custom 
sanctions  noisier  amusements,  Alfred  very  rarely  took 
part  in  such.  He  refused  ten  invitations  where  he  ac- 
cepted one,  and  often  quitted  a  circle  and  went  home 
when  the  evening's  mirth  was  at  its  height. 

A  new  man,  very  unlike  the  old,  had  in  fact  replaced 
the  Octave  and  Fantasio  in  him.  The  malice  and  stu- 
pidity of  the  insinuations  against  his  mode  of  life  at 
this  period  will  be  sufficiently  evident  from  a  list  of 
the  works  composed  during  the  year  1835.  They  were 
"  Lucie,"  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai,"  the  "  Quenouille  de  Bar- 
barine,"  the  "  Chandelier,"  the  "  Loi  sur  la  Presse,"  the 
"  Nuit  de  Decembre,"  and  the  "  Confession  d'un  Enfant 
du  Sibcle."  Where  would  he  have  found  time  for  all 
this  writing,  if  he  had  passed  his  nights  in  convivial 
entertainments,  and  his  days  in  recruiting  from  the 
fatigue  of  the  night  ?  I  say  nothing  of  his  reading,  which 
nevertheless  was  not  discontinued.  Strictly  speaking, 
however,  he  composed  nothing  during  the  first  four 
months  of  that  prolific  year.  One  day  in  May,  his 
friend,  Alfred  Tattet,  asked  him  in  my  presence,  what 
the  fruits  of  his  silence  were  to  be,  and  this  was  the 
answer  he  made  :  — 

"  For  the  last  year  I  have  been  reading  over  again 
what  I  had  read  before,  and  learning  over  what  I 
thought  I  knew.  Now  I  have  gone  back  to  the  world  and 
plunged  into  some  of  your  pleasures,  for  the  sake  of  see- 
ing again  what  I  had  seen  before.  I  have  made  the 
most  sincere  and  heroic  efforts  to  drive  away  the  memory 
which  obscured  my  vision,   and  to  break  up  the  per- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  121 

petually  recurring  habits  of  the  old  time.  After  having 
interrogated  grief  till  it  had  nothing  more  to  tell  me,  and 
quaffed  my  own  tears,  sometimes  in  solitude,  sometimes 
before  you,  my  friends  who  believe  in  me,  I  feel  at  last 
that  I  have  surmounted  misfortune,  and  wholly  disen- 
gaged myself  from  my  past.  To-day,  I  have  myself  laid 
upon  their  bier  my  youth,  my  idleness,  and  my  vanity. 
My  thought  seems  to  me  like  a  plant  which  it  has  long 
been  necessary  to  water,  but  which  can  now  draw 
nourishment  from  the  earth  and  grow  in  the  sunshine. 
It  seems  to  me  now  that  I  shall  speak  soon,  and  that  I 
have  something  in  my  soul  which  must  come  out."  ^ 

It  was  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai "  which  was  crying  to  come 
out.  One  spring  evening,  as  we  were  returning  from  a 
walk,  Alfred  repeated  to  me  the  first  two  couplets  of  the 
dialogue  between  the  Muse  and  the  Poet,  which  he  had 
just  composed  under  the  chestnuts  of  the  Tuileries. 
He  worked  without  interruption  until  morning,  yet  when 
he  appeared  at  breakfast  I  detected  no  sign  of  fatigue 
upon  his  face.  Like  Fantasio,  he  had  the  color  of  the 
May  in  his  cheeks.  The  Muse  possessed  him.  All  day 
long,  he  carried  on  simultaneously  his  work  and  his 
social  intercourse,  as  one  plays  two  games  of  chess  at 
the  same  time.  Now  and  then  he  quitted  us  and  wrote 
a  dozen  verses  or  so,  and  then  came  back  and  resumed 
conversation.  But,  when  night  came,  he  returned  to 
his  work  as  to  a  lover's  rendezvous.  He  had  a  little 
supper  served  in  his  own  room,  and  he  ought  really  to 
have  ordered  two  covers,  —  one  for  his  attendant  Muse. 
He  made  a  requisition  of  all  the  candlesticks  in  the 

'  These  lines  occur  again,  almost  word  for  word  in  the  "  Poete  Ddchu." 


122  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

house,  and  lighted  twelve  candles.  It  must  have  seemed 
to  the  other  inmates  as  if  he  were  giving  a  ball.  On  the 
morning  of  the  second  day  the  piece  was  completed,  and 
the  Muse  took  wing ;  but  she  had  been  so  well  received 
that  she  promised  to  return.  The  poet  blew  out  his 
lights,  went  to  bed,  and  slept  until  nightfall.  When  he 
awoke,  he  read  over  what  he  had  written,  but  found 
nothing  to  retouch.  Then  out  of  the  ideal  world  where  he 
had  lived  for  two  days,  the  poet  dropped  abruptly  down 
to  earth,  sighing  as  though  he  had  been  rudely  awakened 
from  some  delectable  fairy  dream.  His  enthusiasm  was 
succeeded  by  a  sudden  lassitude,  a  disgust  with  life  and 
its  petty  troubles,  and  a  profound  depression.  It  seemed 
as  if  all  the  luxury  of  Sardanapalus,  and  all  the  refined 
amusements  which  Paris  had  to  offer,  would  hardly  be 
enough  to  rouse  him  from  his  dejection.  But  the  sight  of 
a  pretty  face,  a  strain  of  music,  a  graceful  note  opportunely 
received,  dispelled  the  shadows,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
own  that  he  was  resigned  to  living  a  little  longer. 

In  the  eyes  of  some,  these  alternations  of  high  excite- 
ment and  utter  prostration  are  only  a  proof  of  weak- 
ness ;  but  they  are  mistaken.  Insensibility  is  not 
strength.  It  better  deserves  the  name  of  impotence. 
"  The  man  who  takes  the  strongest  dose  of  life,"  said 
the  philosopher  Flourens,  "  is  the  man  who  feels  most 
keenly."  In  more  than  one  passage  of  his  works, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  who  knew  himself  thoroughly,  has 
described  the  exceptional  organization  which  makes 
what  we  call  a  poet ;  but  among  his  papers  I  have  dis- 
covered yet  another  definition,  which  may,  I  think,  be 
appropriately  inserted  here. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  123 

"  Be  sure  that  the  restless  spark  imprisoned  in  this  paltry 
skull  is  a  divine  thing.  You  admire  a  fine  instrument  —  a 
piano  of  Erard,  a  violin  of  Stradivarius  ;  but,  great  God  ! 
what  are  they  compared  to  a  human  soul  ?  In  all  the  thirty 
years  which  I  have  lived,  I  have  never  used  my  faculties  as 
freely  as  I  desired.  I  have  never  been  quite  myself  except 
when  I  have  been  silent.  I  have  as  yet  only  heard  the  open- 
ing bars  of  the  melody  which  perhaps  is  in  me.  The  instru- 
ment will  soon  crumble  into  dust,  and  I  have  but  tuned  it ; 
yet  that  has  been  a  delight. 

"  Whoever  you  are,  you  can  understand  me  if  you  have 
loved  any  thing  whatsoever,  —  your  country,  a  woman,  a 
friend  ;  nay,  even  your  own  welfare,  a  house,  a  room,  a  bed. 
Suppose  that  you  are  returning  from  a  journey :  you  are  com- 
ing back  to  Paris.  You  are  at  the  frontier,  —  stopped  only 
by  the  custom-house.  If  you  are  capable  of  emotion,  do  you 
not  feel  a  certain  pleasurable  impatience  at  the  thought  that 
you  are  returning  to  that  house,  that  room  ?  Does  not  your 
heart  beat  quickly  when  you  turn  the  corner,  when  you  ap- 
proach, when  at  last  you  arrive  ?  Ah  well !  it  is  but  a  natural 
pleasure  and  a  vulgar  impatience  which  you  feel  for  the  bed 
and  table  which  you  know  so  well.  But  suppose  that  you 
felt  the  like  for  all  that  lives,  —  noble  and  common,  known 
and  unknown  alike.  Suppose  your  life  a  continuous  journey, 
every  boundary  your  frontier,  every  inn  your  home,  your 
children  awaiting  you  on  every  threshold,  your  wife  on  every 
couch  :  you  think  that  I  am  exaggerating ;  but,  no !  It  is 
thus  with  the  poet !    It  was  so  with  me  when  I  was  twenty  !  "  ' 

He  might  have  added  :  "  So  I  am  still,  and  so  I  shall 
always  be."  As  M.  Saint  Rend  Taillandier  has  said  of 
Goethe,  he  planted  flowers  of  poetry  at  every  step. 
Every  keen  and  sweet  impression  which  he  received  in 
life  produced  some  piece  of  verse.    After  he  had  written 

'  Quoted  from  the  "  Poete  D^chu."  This  page  was  written  in  1839. 
—  P.  M. 


124  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

the  "  Nuit  de  Mai,"  as  though  there  had  been  healing 
in  the  first  kiss  of  the  Muse,  he  declared  to  me  that  his 
wound  was  perfectly  cured.  I  asked  him  if  he  were 
quite  sound  and  sure  that  the  wound  would  not  open 
again. 

"  Possibly,"  he  replied,  "  but  if  it  does  open  it  will 
only  be  poetically." 

Twenty  years  later,  in  our  mother's  drawing-room,  the 
conversation  turned  on  divorce,  and  Alfred  said  in  the 
hearing  of  several  people  who  never  forgot  the  remark : 
"Our  marriage  laws  are  not  so  bad  after  all.  There 
was  a  moment  of  my  youth  when  I  would  gladly  have 
given  ten  years  of  my  life  to  legalize  divorce,  so  that 
I  might  espouse  a  married  woman.  But  if  my  vows  had 
been  heard,  I  should  have  blown  my  brains  out  in  six 
months." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel.  125 


VIII. 

TN  the  month  of  August,  1835,  the  "Quenouille  de 
-■-  Barbarine "  appeared,  and  the  author  immediately 
set  to  work  on  the  "  Confession  d'un  Enfant  du  Si^cle," 
of  which,  however,  the  title  was  not  yet  determined. 
He  was  laboring  with  zeal,  when  he  read  one  morning  in 
a  newspaper  the  text  of  a  proposed  law  which  created 
a  new  misdemeanor  in  the  case  of  printed  matter ; 
namely,  that  of  objectionable  intent  or  tendency.  The 
penalty  affixed  struck  him  as  enormous.  The  then 
minister,  profiting  by  the  alarm,  occasioned  by  the 
attempt  of  Fieschi,  was  demanding  of  the  legislators 
new  weapons  against  free  discussion.  Alfred  did  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  write  an  occasional  poem,  which 
those  would  seem  never  to  have  read  who  reproach  him 
with  habitual  indifference  to  the  welfare  of  his  country 
and  the  events  of  the  day.  In  truth,  he  defined  his  posi- 
tion in  these  words  :  — 

"  Pour  etre  d'un  parti  j'aime  trop  la  paresse, 
Et  dans  ancun  haras  je  ne  suis  dtalon.^" 

But  the  boasted  idleness  of  an  exceedingly  busy  and 
industrious  young  man  was  only  self-respect,  and  the 
firm  resolution  never  to  abandon  poetry.  This  wise  line 
of  conduct,  from  which  he  never  swerved,  did  not  pre- 

1  "  I  love  idleness  too  well  to  belong  to  any  party,  and  I  am  not  the  stal- 
lion of  any  stud." 


126  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

vent  him  from  feeling  most  acutely  all  which  concerned 
the  safety  and  honor  of  his  country.  The  verses  on 
the  new  law  were  addressed  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to 
the  prime  minister,  who  was  wise  enough  to  cherish  "no 
grudge  against  their  author.  Politicians  are  wont  to 
smile  when  poets  mix  themselves  up  with  the  affairs  of 
this  world ;  but  the  men  who  at  that  time  held  the 
destinies  of  France  in  their  hands  are  now  reduced  to 
asking,  on  their  own  behalf,  a  little  of  the  freedom  of 
which  they  so  rudely  deprived  others,  and  against  which 
they  so  loudly  declaimed.^  Fieschi's  case  proved  that 
there  was  no  correlation  whatever  between  the  news- 
papers, books,  and  theatrical  performances  of  the  year 
1835,  ^"*i  ^^^  obscure  conspiracy  hatched  by  mercenary 
subalterns  in  a  grocer's  shop ;  but  we  were  enriched  by 
the  crime  of  moral  complicity  and  the  penalty  of  trans- 
portation. 

All  this  while,  Alfred  was  working  at  the  "  Confession 
d'un  Enfant  du  Sifecle."  He  went  continually  into 
society,  yet  wrote  every  evening  an  appalling  number 
of  those  pages,  where  we  feel,  as  we  read,  the  quivering 
of  his  pen.  A  novel  incident  interrupted  him  in  the 
midst  of  his  work.  He  came  home  one  evening  per- 
plexed by  some  ambiguous  words  addressed  to  him  by  a 
woman,  and  accompanied  by  looks  more  significant  than 
her  speech.  Disgusted  as  he  was  with  love,  and  barely 
recovered  from  his  previous  attack,  Alfred  observed  the 
lady's  associates  with  suspicion,  and  fancied  he  saw 
traces  of  a  conspiracy  into  which  two  people  had  entered 
to  destroy  his  peace.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  bring  the 
1  This  was  written  under  the  reign  of  Napoleon  III. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  127 

charge,  and  the  younger  lady  exculpated  herself  com- 
pletely :  but,  while  she  proved  that  she  had  had  no  wish 
to  inspire  affection,  she  proved  equally  that  she  did  not 
feel  it ;  and  the  accuser  found  his  position,  with  refer- 
ence to  her,  somewhat  embarrassing.^ 

Obliged  to  retract  his  unjust  suspicions,  Alfred  asked 
himself  what  would  have  happened  if  they  had  been 
well  founded ;  and,  in  a  flash,  he  imagined  the  whole 
comedy  of  the  "  Chandelier." 

I  was  then  a  modest  hack-writer,  having  but  two 
hours  in  the  day  —  the  time  from  four  to  six — to  give 
to  my  friends  and  social  duties,  while  I  worked  all  the 
evening  in  the  hope  of  acquiring  a  little  talerft ;  that  is 
to  say,  the  independence  for  which  I  pined.  One  night 
I  was  at  home  scribbling  on  I  know  not  what,  while  my 
more  worldly  brother  was  abroad.  As  usual,  it  was  past 
midnight  when  he  came  home :  but  between  two  and 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  came  to  my  room  with 
some  loose  leaves  of  paper  in  his  hand ;  and,  seating  him- 
self on  the  foot  of  my  bed,  he  began  to  read  that  charm- 
ing scene  in  which  the  rage  of  Master  Andrd  is  opposed 
by  the  sangfroid  of  the  crafty  Jacqueline.  We  both 
went  into  fits  of  laughter ;  and  the  second  scene,  the  one 
in  which  Clavaroche  devises  his  odious  machination,  was 
written  before  daybreak.  I  entreated  my  brother  to 
think  seriously  about  having  this  delicious  comedy  put 
on  the  stage ;  but  he  replied  that  its  fate  was  fixed. 
"If  any  theatre  wants  to  adopt  it,"  said  he,  "  they  will 

'  I  have  already  told  this  story  briefly  in  the  notice  which  accompanies 
the  edition  of  1866.  There  seems  to  be  no  reason  nowwhy  I  should  not 
give  it  more  in  detail.  —  P.  M.  < 


128  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

find  the  'Chandelier'  in  the  pages  of  the  'Revue.'" 
The  piece  actually  appeared  there  Nov.  i,  1835  ;  and 
nobody  ever  suspected  that  it  could  be  played  until 
thirteen  years  later. 

This  time  the  characters  of  the  comedy  were  imagi- 
nary. There  is  no  similarity  whatever  between  Jac- 
queline and  the  lady  who  so  innocently  furnished  the 
theme  of  the  piece.  But  the  author  continued  to  play 
the  part  of  "  Fortunio  "  toward  her,  although  he  uttered 
no  reproaches.  One  morning  as  he  was  walking  along 
the  Rue  de  Buci,  with  a  thoughtful  face  and  downcast 
eyes,  he  began  to  dream  of  the  hazard  of  making  this 
lady  a  declaration  of  love  by  letter.  All  at  once,  he 
said  aloud,  "  But  what  if  I  were  to  say  that  I  love  you  ? " 
then  lifting  his  head  he  met  the  eyes  of  a  passer-by  who 
began  to  laugh  at  his  outbreak.  His  doubts  naturally 
resolved  themselves  into  a  poem,  and  he  composed  the 
stanzas  to  Ninon.  That  evening,  in  the  lady's  draw- 
ing-room, some  ten  persons  being  present,  he  took  a 
paper  out  of  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  remarking,  with  an  air  of  entire  simplicity, 
that  he  had  been  writing  some  verses,  and  wanted  to 
know  what  she  thought  of  them.  The  lady  read  the 
verses  to  herself  with  an  indifferent  air,  and  handed  him 
back  the  paper  without  a  word.  Afterwards  she  asked 
him  for  it  again,  held  it  open  in  her  hand  for  a  while, 
and  then  put  it  in  her  pocket,  as  if  unconsciously. 

On  the  morrow,  at  the  usual  calling  hour,  Alfred  sal- 
lied forth  to  receive  the  reprimand  which  he  expected ; 
but  he  found  nobody  at  home.  He  was  avoided.  When 
at  last  he  did  obtain  an  interview,  it  was  before  witnesses  3 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  129 

and  the  lady  apparently  did  not  remember  that  any 
verses  had  been  addressed  to  her.  Alfred  pretended  to 
be  equally  oblivious,  but  his  interest  was  only  piqued. 
Their  silence  ended  in  an  abrupt  explanation,  and  a  full 
and  unreserved  avowal  of  his  sentiments.  In  this  first 
episode,  the  lover's  happiness  lasted  three  weeks,  at  the 
end  of  which  period  Alfred  was  assailed  by  new  sus- 
picions. The  taste  of  the  poison  which  he  had  drunk  at 
Venice  th£  year  before  came  back  to  him.  If  his  friend 
had  been  gentle  and  patient,  she  might  have  cured  him 
of  his  jealous  distrust ;  but  unhappily  she  had  a  haughty 
spirit,  susceptible  and  impulsive,  which  brooked  neither 
precaution  nor  delay.  After  a  stormy  week,  they  re- 
solved to  part,  and  the  resolution  was  formulated  in 
terms  of  crushing  force.  Alfred  wrote  a  desperate  letter 
in  which  he  acknowledged  himself  in  the  wrong,  and 
received,  in  reply,  a  request  for  the  return  of  the  letters, 
ten  or  twelve  at  most,  which  she  had  written  him.  He 
wrapped  them  up  in  a  piece  of  cloth  along  with  a  lock 
of  hair,  a  few  little  things  which  had  been  meant  for 
souvenirs,  and  a  flower  which  had  scarcely  had  time  to 
fade.  Only  one  hand  might  hold  this  "  dear  and  fragile 
treasure."  He  sent  it  back  with  tears,  and  remained 
face  to  face  with  himself.  It  was  verily  an  amputation. 
When  he  thought  of  the  usual  patience  of  women  under 
such  circumstances,  of  their  weakness,  and  the  man- 
oeuvres which  they  know  so  well  how  to  try,  he  asked 
himself  by  what  strange  fatality  he  had  encountered  the 
only  woman  in  the  world  capable  of  a  course  so  hard 
and  cruel. 
But  his  Muse  did  not,  as  on  the  previous  occasion, 
9 


130  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

wait  six  months  before  consoling  him.  Publication, 
moreover,  was  one  way  of  calling  the  attention  of  his 
ungrateful  mistress  to  the  expression  of  his  grief  and 
regret.  One  fearfully  stormy  night  I  came  in  at  about 
midnight,  and  saw  so  many  lights  in  my  brother's  room 
that  I  thought  he  must  have  a  large  number  of  guests. 
He  was,  however,  writing  the  "  Nuit  de  Decembre."  That 
poem,  fraught  with  so  deep  a  melancholy,  belongs  to  the 
episode  which  I  have  just  related,  and  the  reader  of  it 
sees  plainly  that  the  poet  has  drunk  of  a  new  cup.  That 
picture  of  solitude  ;  that  conception  of  a  pale,  sable-clad 
figure,  becoming  visible  only  in  moments  of  anguish  and 
desolation,  —  could  only  have  originated  in  a  new  situa- 
tion and  a  recent  sorrow.  I  am  aware  that  many  readers 
have  seen,  in  the  "  Nuit  de  Decembre,"  only  a  reaction 
from  the  memories  of  Italy,  and  a  sort  of  complement  to 
the  "  Nuit  de  Mai ; "  but  this  is  an  error  which  requires 
correction.  No  doubt  should  be  suffered  to  linger 
about  that  passage  of  the  poem  in  which  the  deserted 
lover  reproaches  the  woman  who  "  knows  not  how  to 
forgive."  I  know  the  truth :  and  I  will  not  permit  the 
slightest  confusion  between  two  very  different  women; 
one  of  whom  had  really  something  to  forgive,  and  the 
right  to  refuse  her  pardon.  This  is  why  I  have  chosen 
to  dwell  on  that  new  love  affair ;  the  prologue  to  which 
gave  rise  to  the  "  Nuit  de  Decembre." 

We  will  now  return  to  the  "  Confession  d'un  enfant  du 
Siecle."  The  author  had  had  a  sorrowful  fancy  for 
ending  the  romance  at  the  point  where  Brigitte  confesses 
her  love  to  Octave.  "  My  hero,"  he  said,  "  will  be  more 
fortunate  than  I  have  been,  for  I  have  myself  brought 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  131 

him  to  the  moment  when  he  will  receive  consolation. 
Let  us  go  no  farther  !  To-morrow  will  be  too  painful." 
But  it  was  urged  upon  him  that  a  good  ending  would 
render  the  book  insignificant  j  and,  having  consented  to 
finish  the  second  volume,  he  set  to  work  assiduously. 

In  spite  of  its  title,  we  must  not  expect  to  find  in  the 
"Confession,"  an  autobiography.  The  sentiments  ex- 
pressed are  indeed  to  some  extent  his  own  ;  but  truth 
of  incident  is  nowhere  to  be  found,  not  even  by  disre- 
garding chronological  order.  The  author  never  meant 
to  tell  the  story  of  his  youth.  He  did  not  merely  draw 
upon  his  own  recollections ;  but  he  observed  whatever 
of  life  and  movement  he  saw  around  him,  and  collected 
whatsoever  he  thought  might  be  presented  as  sympto- 
matic of  the  moral  malady  which  he  was  attempting  to 
describe ;  whatsoever  might  strengthen  that  philosophic 
thesis  which  gives  his  work  a  higher  range  than  properly 
belongs  to  any  mere  society  romance.  Many  of  the 
real  incidents  have  been  developed  or  modified,  that  they 
might  serve  as  illustrations  of  character.  The  attempt 
to  separate  what  is  real  from  that  which  appertains 
merely  to  art  and  the  necessities  of  the  case  would 
prove  utterly  futile,  and  even  if  successful  would  shed 
no  light  on  the  life  of  the  author. 

As  regards  "Desgenais,"  I  need  only  remark  that 
so  strong  a  type  could  not  have  been  a  portrait.  There 
is  summed  up  in  this  character  a  whole  class  of  young 
people  with  whom  Alfred  had  been  intimate,  and  whom 
he  named  "  men  of  the  flesh,"  to  distinguish  them  from 
the  men  of  sentiment  typified  by  Octave.  The  "  Con- 
fession," delayed  by  events  of  which  the  public  knew 


132  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

nothing,  was  awaited  with  impatience.  It  finally  ap- 
peared in  the  early  days  of  1836  ;  but  those  who  hoped 
for  revelations  were  disappointed.  It  did  not  create  the 
least  scandal.  And  the  best  advice  I  can  ofTer  to  those 
who  read  it  now,  is  that  they  give  up  their  conjectures, 
and  endeavor  to  learn  from  it  something  about  them- 
selves and  the  times  in  which  they  live. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  133 


IX. 


*'  I  ^HE  eleventh  of  December  had  been  Alfred  de 
-^  Musset's  twenty-fifth  birthday.  The  new  year 
upon  which  he  was  entering  began  as  badly  as  the  pre- 
vious one  had  done.  Precisely  because  no  fearful 
memories,  no  painful  associations,  were  mingled  with  his 
second  disappointment  in  love,  he  felt  less  energy  than 
on  the  former  occasion  for  contending  against  ennui  and 
dejection.  A  healthful  heart  can  summon  the  strength 
needful  to  surmount  a  passion  of  which  it  is  ashamed ; 
but,  when  there  is  no  help  save  in  cold  reason,  the  heart 
refuses  to  be  healed.  Alfred  felt  that  he  had  made 
a  vain  boast  when  he  said  to  his  stern  mistress  in  the 
"  Nuit  de  Ddcembre,"  "  He  who  loses  you  has  not  lost 
all."  He  fancied,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  had  lost  the 
happiness  of  his  whqje  life ;  and  he  could  not  be  resigned 
to  so  great  a  sacrifice,  nor  allow  himself  to  be  condemned 
without  being  heard.  The  first  time  he  met  the  lady  in 
question  after  the  publication  of  the  "Nuit  de  D^- 
cembre,"  she  told  him  that  she  had  been  both  amazed 
and  affected  by  the  reading  of  the  poem ;  that  she  had 
not  supposed  him  capable  of  suffering  such  distress ; 
that  when  she  saw  him  unhappy,  she  pitied  him  sincerely. 
Then,  as  though  afraid  of  having  said  too  much,  she 
added  that  it  could  make  no  difference.  Alfred  profited 
by  the  occasion  to  let  her  know  what  he  had  suffered, 
and  then  asked  to  be  allowed  to  resume  his  visits  as  a 


134  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

friend ;  adding  that  she  might  receive  him  without  danger, 
since  //  could  make  no  difference.  She  owned  the  justice 
of  his  reasoning,  and  gave  the  permission  required ;  and 
that  night  the  poor  child  came  home  as  pleased  as 
though  he  had  won  a  great  victory. 

When  I  learned  the  nature  of  the  success  in  which  he 
was  exulting,  and  which  he  immediately  confided  to  me, 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  it  a  bad  piece  of  business. 
"  You  do  not,  either  of  you,"  I  said  jestingly,  "  know 
what  you  want.  Your  fair  one  is  like  a  fish  nibbling  at 
the  hook,  and  all  the  while  saying  to  the  fisherman, 
'  You  need  not  expect  to  catch  me.'  And  you  are  like  a 
man  sick  with  gastric  fever  who  consents  to  be  treated 
for  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  It  is  easy  to  foresee  the 
result.  In  obedience  to  your  ungrateful  lady,  you  will 
not  whisper  a  word  of  love ;  but  you  will  betray  your 
feelings  a  dozen  times  in  a  day.  She  on  her  part  will 
be  moved  by  your  constancy ;  and,  in  her  gratitude  to  you 
for  ceasing  to  love  her,  she  will  fall  in  love  with  you 
herself.  And,  after  a  fortnight  of  this  sort  of  thing, 
your  obedience  and  her  determination  will  end  like  the 
reformation  of  that  drunkard  who  went  back  to  the  inn 
to  treat  his  resolution." 

In  the  very  height  of  his  troubles,  Alfred  always  en- 
joyed a  laugh  at  his  own  expense.  It  was  one  of  his 
consolations,  and  I  knew  it,  and  often  availed  myself  of 
the  fact ;  and  in  this  case  my  brother,  while  he  laughed 
at  my  grumbling,  felt  in  his  heart  that  it  was  just.  In  a 
few  days  my  predictions  were  verified.  Alfred  saw  his 
implacable  mistress  three  or  four  times  in  a  week,  and 
scrupulously  observed  her  orders.     He  said  not  a  word 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset  135 

of  love,  but  inwardly  he  was  in  a  rage.  Then  the  temp- 
tation assailed  him  to  break  silence  by  another  poem ; 
and,  this  method  having  succeeded  before,  he  composed 
some  new  stanzas  for  his  own  consolation,  but  resolved 
to  wait  a  while  before  offering  them  to  her.  The  follow- 
ing are  the  verses,  which  have  never  been  published  :  — 

TO   NINON. 

For  all  your  wit,  my  lady  cool  and  fair, 
Your  studied  languors,  and  the  lofty  air 
That  suits  you  well,  albeit  it  works  us  ill,  — 
'Tis  certain  that  you  cannot  have  your  will. 

Certain,  though  not  a  sign  thereof  be  shown, 
That  in  my  heart's  domain  you  rule  alone  ; 
That  love  is  not  destroyed  when  love  is  hidden. 
And  that  I  love  you,  Ninon,  though  forbidden. 

Certain  it  is  that,  in  your  own  despite. 
The  love  you  would  rebuke  you  still  invite  ; 
That  men  elect  to  writhe  beneath  your  scorn, 
And  pangs  of  loving  you  are  lightly  borne. 

And  when,  O  spirit,  sensitive  and  shy, 
Spurning  our  lightest  touch,  you  start  and  fly, 
The  scattered  radiance  of  your  loveliness 
Falls  on  us,  and  our  torment  turns  to  bliss. 

Be  what  you  will  then !  Shed  your  sweetest  graces. 
Scorn  or  allure  us,  or  our  woes  deride  ; 
And  like  a  diamond  with  a  million  faces, 
Turn  ever  more  a  new  and  dazzling  side. 

One  soul  there  is  will  yield  you  thanks  unceasing. 
And  the  glad  remnant  of  its  days  unknown  ; 
For  me,  your  blows  are  better  than  all  blessing. 
And  yours  I  am,  and  never  more  mine  own. 


136  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

And  one  there  is  who  knows  my  heart's  whole  story, 
My  Muse,  Ninon  !  She  knows,  but  never  tells  ! 
You  are  so  like,  I  think  when  she's  before  me 
I  see  yourself  !  I  scarce  could  love  her  else  ! 

And  there  are  nights  when  on  the  dark  arises 
A  sweet  look,  shifting  like  a  meteor's  ray. 
A  sweet  dream  comes  and  goes,  returns,  entices 
(Poets  and  happy  folk  are  mad,  they  say). 

A  visionary  being  I  embrace, 
A  wordless  music  murmurs  in  my  ear, 
Dark,  spirit  eyes  look  soft  on  my  disgrace : 
I  turn  to  heaven,  Ninon,  and  see  you  there. 

O  my  beloved,  do  not  take  away 

My  darling  grief,  my  lone  life's  mortal  charm  ! 

Pity  me  not,  but  let  me  suffer,  pray ! 

No  plaint  of  mine  shall  work  you  any  harm. 

Once  indited,  these  verses  could  not  fail  of  ultimately 
finding  their  way  to  the  lady  who  had  inspired  them.  If 
the  author  had  attempted  to  hand  them  to  her  himself, 
as  he  had  done  with  the  first  stanzas  to  Ninon,  she 
would  perhaps  have  refused  to  take  them ;  but  the  post- 
office  was  invented  to  surmount  difficulties  of  this  nature, 
and,  by  way  of  the  post,  the  second  stanzas  arrived  at 
their  address.  Alfred  awaited  the  result  with  some 
anxiety,  until  through  the  same  medium  he  received  a 
large  envelope.  The  lady  was  not  much  of  an  artist, 
but  the  envelope  contained  a  pen-and-ink  drawing,  re- 
presenting a  large  drawing-room  clock,  which  the  lover 
readily  recognized,  and  the  hands  of  which  indicated 
the  hour  of  three. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  i^y 

That  evening,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  appear 
sober  and  self-possessed,  our  poet  was  in  a  transport  of 
delight.  '  He  was  positively  beside  himself.  The  second 
verses  to  Ninon  had  been  as  successful  as  the  first. 
The  lady  liked  pretty  poetry,  and  poetry  had  wrung  from 
her  the  confession  which  love  had  failed  to  extort.  She 
was  an  extremely  clever  person  ;  and,  instead  of  absorb- 
ing all  her  friend's  leisure  she  spurred  him  on  to  work, 
declaring  that  she  should  look  upon  his  future  perform- 
ances as  so  many  proofs  of  his  affection.  They  were 
both  confident  of  a  long  future ;  and  I  augured  well  of 
these  indications,  so  long  as  their  good  understanding 
should  last. 

It  lasted  a  fortnight.  Chance  had  already  determined 
the  issue  of  the  affair.  This  time  the  rupture  was  no 
fault  of  the  lover's,  who  had  profited  by  his  previous  ex- 
perience ;  but,  while  he  was  on  his  guard  against  his  own 
jealousy  and  unjust  suspicions,  some  one  else  who  was 
jealous  had  guessed  the  whole  truth.  The  Ninon  of 
the  stanzas  was  destined  to  figure  under  another  name 
in  a  prose  narrative.  The  situation,  as  I  have  said  else- 
where, was  reproduced  in  "  Emmeline." 

The  dangerous  point  in  affairs  of  this  nature  is  always 
that  moment  of  internal  conflict,  when  a  virtuous  and 
loyal  woman  fully  believes  that  she  is  coming  off  victo- 
rious. Why  should  she  dissimulate  so  long  as  her 
conscience  does  not  reproach  her  ?  To  dissimulate  her 
feelings  would  be  to  avow  herself  in  the  wrong.  She 
does  not  wish  to  yield ;  she  is  not  going  to  yield :  but 
the  day  comes  when  love  is  too  strong  for  her,  and  pru- 
dence awakes  too  late.     She  catches  a  glimpse  of  the 


138  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

future,  and  a  few  hours  suffice  to  break  up  and  destroy 
happiness,  purpose,  every  thing.  Alfred  might  not  per- 
haps have  resigned  himself  to  the  second  separation  if 
he  had  had  the  jealous  person  only  to  deal  with ;  but 
when  he  found  that  he  must  make  a  man  wretched, 
and  bring  about  an  inevitable  catastrophe,  he  insisted 
no  longer,  but  yielded  to  the  lady's  entreaties, — respect- 
fully and  sadly. 

So  ended  the  love  story  of  "  Emmeline."  Just  as  in 
the  romance  which  bears  that  title,  the  affair  was  con- 
cluded sorrowfully,  to  the  gay  notes  of  a  waltz,  between 
two  figures  of  a  cotillon,  by  the  intervention  of  a  com- 
passionate but  inexorable  friend.  Alfred  made  the  very 
promise  which  he  put  into  the  mouth  of  his  fictitious 
Gilbert.  "Any  thing  in  the  world,  for  your  sake."  The 
condition  imposed  was  complete  separation.  Alfred 
intended  to  go  away.  He  made  his  arrangements  for  so 
doing,  and  announced  his  purpose  to  his  friends  \  but  his 
courage  failed  him,  and  he  asked  for  one  day  of  grace, 
and  then  another.  And  then,  suddenly,  he  was  apprised 
that  his  departure  would  not  be  necessary. 

Alfred  was  supported  under  the  pain  of  this  wrench 
by  the  very  sacrifice  which  he  was  making.  Ought  he 
not  to  consider  himself  fortunate  to  be  able  to  restore 
his  friend's  peace  at  the  expense  of  his  own  ?  He 
wanted  to  give  an  example  of  a  sorrow  bravely  borne. 
But  when  the  negotiations  were  concluded,  and  his  un- 
happiness  was  achieved,  and  he  found  himself  left  alone 
to  struggle  with  his  regrets,  he  began  to  ask  himself 
why  he  should  live  any  longer.  I  could  see  that  he 
was  dreaming  of  all  that  he  had  lost,  and  fairly  luxuriat- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  139 

ing  in  his  disappointment.  He  plunged  into  his  sorrow 
as  deeply  as  might  be,  preferring  active  pain  to  passive 
dejection.  I  told  him  that  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  make 
his  malady  incurable,  and  he  replied  :  "  It  is  so." 

Alfred  de  Musset  used  openly  to  profess  for  M.  de 
Lamartine  both  sympathy  and  admiration.  One  day  in 
the  month  of  February,  1836,  under  the  influence  of  a 
fresh  attack  of  melancholy,  I  found  him  re-reading  the 
"  Meditations."  This  poem,  whose  tranquillizing  power 
he  had  just  experienced,  inspired  him  with  the  desire  to 
give  poetical  expression  to  his  own  gratitude  to  the 
author  of  the  "  Lac."  He  repeated  to  me  the  first  part 
of  the  epistle  to  Lamartine,  as  far  as  the  verse  where 
he  says  that  Lord  Byron  in  his  last  days  — 

"  Sur  terra  autour  de  lui,  cherchait  pour  qui  mourir."  ■ 

But  he  hesitated  about  going  on  with  the  poem,  fear- 
ing that  it  would  seem  pretentious  in  him  to  assume 
that  Lamartine  would  be  interested  in  the  story  of  his 
troubles.  By  way  of  disposing  of  his  modest  scruples, 
I  undertook  boldly  to  assure  him  that  verses  like  these 
would  reflect  as  much  honor  on  Lamartine  as  on  their 
author,  and  that  all  Europe  would  feel  an  interest  in  the 
sorrow  out  of  which  they  had  sprung.  Accordingly  we 
proceeded  to  the  usual  ceremonies  which  distinguished 
his  days  of  inspiration,  —  the  grand  illumination  and 
the  supper.  The  Muse  was  only  awaiting  permission 
to  descend.  On  the  following  day  the  epistle  was  far 
advanced ;  and  on  the  first  of  March,  1836,  it  appeared 
in  the  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes."     Some  time  after- 

1  "  Looked  the  world  over,  seeking  some  one  for  whom  he  might  die." 


140  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

wards  Alfred  received  a  note  from  M.  de  Lamartine,  in- 
viting him  to  call.  He  hastened  to  comply,  and  for 
three  or  four  months  there  was  constant  intercourse  be- 
tween the  two  poets.  Evenings  after  he  returned  from 
these  visits,  Alfred  would  rehearse  in  the  family  circle 
the  talk  of  the  morning.  Among  other  things,  I  remem- 
ber his  saying  the  first  time  he  came  home  that  he  had 
been  promised  a  reply  to  his  verses.  M.  de  Lamartine 
had  asked  for  time  in  which  to  express  his  gratitude, 
saying,  with  a  charming  good  grace,  that  it  would  be  no 
easy  matter  to  devise  a  reply  worthy  of  the  letter.^ 

Until  the  day  should  arrive  in  which  he  was  to  be 
glorified  by  this  reply,  Alfred  dwelt  with  pride  and  plea- 
sure on  the  promise.  We  know  how  he  loved  to  burrow 
in  the  picture  and  engraving  shops.  In  one  such  he 
found  a  crayon  copy  of  the  "  Poetry  "  of  Carlo  Dolci, 
the  features  of  which  were  really  very  like  those  of  the 

'  In  the  nineteenth  instalment  of  M.  de  Lamartine's  "  Literary  Conver- 
satic*s"  we  were  told,  in  1867,  why  this  reply  never  appeared;  but  I  must 
confess  that  I  never  perfectly  understood  the  explanation.  It  was  some- 
what amazing  to  learn  that  M.  de  Lamartine  totally  forgot  his  interviews 
with  Alfred,  and  that  when  he  found  him  at  the  Institute  in  1852,  he  sup- 
posed that  he  was  addressing  him  for  the  first  time.  In  the  same  nineteenth 
conversation  we  .are  told  that  M.  de  Lamartine  had  at  first  but  a  poor 
opinion  of  the  lyrical  ability  of  this  young  man,  an  opinion  derived  from 
reading  the  "  Rhin  Allemand ; "  but  that  some  time  later,  a  shepherd  handed 
him  in  the  park  of  Saint  Point  the  number  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  "  which  contained  the  verses  addressed  to  himself,  and  that,  when 
he  read  these,  his  prejudice  vanished.  Now  the  "  Rhin  Allemand"  was  not 
written  until  June,  1841,  and  the  "Epitrek  M.  de  Lamartine"  appeared 
March  I,  1836;  consequently,  it  would  seem  as  if  M.  de  Lamartine's 
memory  must  have  served  him  very  ill  when  he  attempted  to  account  for  his 
silence ;  or  else  that  it  took  the  shepherd  who  was  charged  with  the  delivery 
of  his  copy  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  five  years  to  find  him  in  the 
park  of  Saint  Point.  —  P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  141 

author  of  the  "  Meditations."  He  instantly  bought  the 
drawing,  and  gave  it  a  place  in  one  of  the  frames  which 
adorned  his  study;  and  his  friends  remember  to  this 
day  how  highly  he  prized  this  ideal  portrait,  and  the 
childlike  pleasure  which  he  took  in  the  contemplation 
thereof.  Afterwards,  when  all  Paris  was  rushing  to  the 
performances  of  the  "Caprice,"  Mme.  Allan  conceived 
a  fancy  for  this  crayon.  Alfred  dared  not  refuse  it  to 
the  actress  who  had  insured  the  success  of  the  play ;  but 
he  always  regretted  losing  it,  and  in  the  very  last  months 
of  his  life  he  said  repeatedly :  "  Why  need  Mme.  Allan 
have  taken  away  my  Lamartine  ? " 

The  readers  of  the  "  Revue  "  remarked  the  peculiarly 
careful  execution  of  the  "  Epistle."  The  author  wanted  it 
to  be  faultless.  We  know  now  the  circumstances  under 
which  that  flower  of  poesy  was  sown,  and  there  need  be 
no  mistake  about  the  feelings  which  caused  it  to  blossom. 
How  is  it  possible  fully  to  comprehend  the  poet's  yearn- 
ing regret,  without  the  knowledge  that  his  love  was  one 
which  a  mere  sense  of  personal  dignity  would  not  have 
compelled  him  to  crush  out  ?  The  story  told  in  the  letter 
to  Lamartine  is  that  of  an  evening  of  deep  agitation, 
when  Paris  was  resounding  with  the  coarse  uproar  of 
the  Carnival.  Those  who  were  mistaken  about  the  sub- 
ject of  the  "  Nuit  de  Ddcembre  "  committed  the  same 
error  with  regard  to  the  letter.  Alfred  smiled  at  their 
misconceptions ;  but,  when  asked  by  his  friends  to  ex- 
plain, his  answer  used  to  be :  "  You  can  think  what  you 
please." 

His  reserve  was  just  and  proper  at  the  time,  but  now 
all  is  changed.     A  third  of  a  century  has  elapsed,  and 


142  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

the  letter  to  Lamartine  has  become  something  beside 
the  effort  of  a  young  poet  of  great  promise  serving 
to  embellish  the  last  number  of  a  review.  He  who 
uttered  that  cry  of  pain  has  been  removed  by  an  early 
death ;  but  the  cry  is  echoing  yet,  and  the  heart  of  the 
public  is  moved  by  it.  There  is  a  peremptory  demand 
for  an  explanation,  and  it  ought  to  be  made. 

There  are  subtle  differences  to  be  observed  in  the 
reproaches  addressed  by  lovers  to  their  cruel  mistresses. 
Read,  for  example,  the  whole  of  the  passage  in  the 
"Lettre  k  Lamartine"  which  begins, — 

"  O  men  unique  amour  !  Que  vous  avais-je  fait  ? 
Vous  m'aviez  pu  quitter,  vous  qui  juriez  la  veille, 
Que  vous  ^tiez  ma  vie,  et  que  Dieu  le  savait."  ^ 

Far  otherwise  did  the  poet  talk  in  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai ! " 
These  verses  are  the  sequel  to  those  of  the  "  Nuit  de 
D^cembre."  They  are  addressed  to  the  same  person,  and 
she  has  had  no  occasion  to  blush  for  them.  The  time 
for  misapprehensions  is  past.  Let  us  render  to  every 
one  his  due.  I  would  renounce  the  purpose  of  writing 
my  brother's  life,  were  it  not  permitted  me  to  shed  a 
little  light  on  those  finest  passages  in  his  poems,  where  I 
can  feel  at  every  word  the  very  throbbings  of  his  heart. 

She  who  inspired  the  letter  to  Lamartine  needed  no 
assistance  to  recognize  her  own  likeness  in  it.  Shortly 
after  it  appeared,  the  author  found  in  his  room,  one 
night  when  he  went  home,  two  Sevres  vases  accom- 
panied by  a  note  in  which  occurred  the  following 
passage :  — 

"  1  My  only  love,  what  wrong  had  I  done  you  that  you  cast  me  off,  when 
you  had  sworn,  only  the  night  before,  that  you  were  mine  and  God  knew  it  ?  " 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  143 

"  If  you  knew  the  state  into  which  I  was  thrown  by  read- 
ing your  verses,  you  would  be  sorry  for  having  said  in  them 
that  your  heart  was  caught  by  a  woman's  caprice.  It  was 
true  love  and  no  caprice  from  which  we  both  suffered.  Do 
not  be  so  unjust  to  me  as  to  doubt  it.  Even  now,  if  I  had 
only  myself  to  think  of,  I  would  wipe  away  the  tears  which 
blind  my  eyes,  and  leave  all  and  lose  all  for  you.  One  word 
from  you  would  be  enough,  and  I  have  now  no  hesitation  in 
saying  so.     But  because  you  love  me,  you  will  let  me  weep." 

These  lines  wrought  a  great  change  in  the  mind  of  the 
distressed  lover.  Under  the  seeming  sternness  of  his 
treatment  he  recognized  a  sincere  compassion.  His  grief 
was  shared  ;  and  this  thought  comforted  him.  Twenty 
times  he  repeated :  "  She  would  have  left  all  if  I  had 
said  a  word ;  but  I  never  will  say  the  word  which  might 
destroy  her." 

Destiny  brought  to  Alfred  de  Musset  a  compensation 
for  his  sacrifices.  If  there  is  a  being  on  earth  to  whom 
a  woman's  friendship  may  be  useful,  it  is  surely  a  poet 
or  an  unhappy  lover.  He  fulfilled  both  conditions  when 
he  became  the  friend  and  godson  of  a  highly  gifted 
woman  whom  he  had  known  for  a  long  time.  Hers  was 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  salons  in  Paris.  Music  was 
given  there  once  a  week,  and  on  these  days  numbers  of 
people  came  to  hear  Prince  Belgiojoso,  Gdraldy,  the 
Countess  de  Sparre,  &c.  On  other  days,  there  were 
fewer  guests  and  conversation  only. 

One  evening  they  were  amusing  themselves  by  bestow- 
ing on  one  another  fanciful  sobriquets.  The  mistress  of 
the  house  had  been  appointed  to  find  a  name  for  Alfred 
de  Musset,  and  she  dubbed  him  "  Prince  Phosphor  of  the 
restless  heart." 


144  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

The  lady  who  thus  baptized  him  permitted  him  to  call 
himself  her  godson,  and  her  his  godmamma. 

From  this  graceful  intimacy,  and  the  influence  which 
the  godmother  acquired  over  the  mind  of  her  boy,  there 
resulted,  on  the  one  side,  judicious  advice  and  encour- 
agement, consolation,  and  the  stimulus  to  exertion ;  on 
the  other,  a  constant  desire  to  deserve  the  approval  of  a 
reader  who  endeavored  to  be  exacting,  precisely  because 
she  was  fond  of  him. 

For  years  Alfred  de  Musset  felt  bound  to  keep  his 
godmother  fully  informed  of  all  the  impressions  which 
he  received.  Not  an  amusing  idea  entered  his  head, 
nor  a  fleeting  sentiment  his  heart,  but  it  was  communi- 
cated to  her.  The  introduction  to  "  Silvia  "  shows  that 
that  story  was  written  in  answer  to  a  letter  in  which  the 
poet  had  been  reproved  for  allowing  his  Muse  too  long  a 
rest.  I  shall  tell  later  how  he  replied  to  a  more  serious 
reproach,  by  a  sonnet  addressed  to  his  godmother, 
which  could  not  well  have  been  made  public  while  the 
author  lived. "  ^ 

'  The  "  godmother  "  was  Mme.  Maxime  Jaubert,  and  the  friendship 
between  her  and  Alfred  de  Musset  one  of  the  sweetest,  most  healthful,  and 
helpful  influences  of  the  poet's  life.  —  Tr. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  145 


X. 


A  BRIEF  and  unimportant  episode  in  Alfred's 
"^^^  career,  took  him  for  a  time  away  from  all  literary 
labors  and  associations.  When  he  first  re-entered  his 
study,  he  examined  all  the  objects  about  him  earnestly, 
as  if  they  had  been  old  friends.  His  natural  vivacity 
made  all  contrasts  pleasing  to  him.  One  day  I  found 
him  there,  promenading  up  and  down,  while  he  alter- 
nately hummed  that  cavatifia  of  Pacini  which  Liszt's 
piano  and  the  voice  of  Rubini  had  lately  brought  into 
fashion,  and  murmured  under  his  breath  lines  which 
arranged  themselves  in  hemistichs.  Finally  he  paused 
before  his  writing-table,  seized  a  large  sheet  of  paper, 
and  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

LA   NUIT   DE   JUIN. 

(Le  Poete.) 

Muse,  quand  le  bid  pousse  il  faut  Stre  joyeux, 
Regarde  ces  coteaux  et  leur  blonde  parure  ; 
Quelle  douce  clartd  dans  I'immense  nature, 
Tout  ce  qui  vit  ce  soir  doit  se  sentir  heureux.^ 

1  Or  thus:  — 

"  O  my  Muse !  the  com  is  up,  'tis  the  season  of  delight, 
Look  how  the  circling  hills  their  snow-white  mantle  wear, 
And  a  softened  splendor  throbs  in  all  the  infinite  air : 
All  things  that  breathe  rejoice  on  such  a  night." 
10 


146  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

"  In  fact,"  I  said,  as  I  perused  these  lines,  "  this  is 
going  to  be  one  of  those  nights  when  there  is  no  death 
in  the  soul." 

He  laughed,  and  promised  that  the  "  Nuit  de  Juin  " 
should  treat  of  love  and  pleasure  only.  Dinner-time  was 
approaching,  and  knowing,  as  I  did,  that  the  Muse  was 
fond  of  descending  at  the  shepherd's  hour,^  I  made  no 
doubt  that  on  the  morrow  the  piece  would  be  half  done. 
Unluckily,  Tattet  came  in,  and  wanted  to  take  his 
friend  off  to  dine  at  a  restaurant.  I  besought  him 
not  to  interrupt  so  important  a  work,  representing  the 
harm  he  might  be  doing  to  the  poet,  the  public,  and 
himself.  Tattet  allowed  that  I  was  right,  but  the  dinner 
was  ordered,  and.  he  had  promised  my  brother  to  the 
other  guests,  among  whom  were  MM.  Alfred  and  Hippo- 
lyte  Mosselman,  De  Jean,  and  Arvers.'^  Tattet  assured 
me  that  they  would  break  up  early,  and  that  poetry 
should  not  be  the  loser ;  and  Alfred  departed,  to  my 
great  regret.  He  came  home  late,  and  his  head  was 
tired.  The  next  day  I  made  inquiries  for  the  "  Nuit  de 
Juin,"  and  his  answer  was  that  there  were  thirty  days  in 
the  month.  He  knew,  however,  that  the  Muse  was 
offended  and  would  not  return ;  so  he  took  his  hat  and 
went  off  for  a  call.  The  occasion  had  passed,  and  the 
"  Nuit  de  Juin  "  stopped  there.  To-day,  as  I  look  upon 
the  broad  blank  sheet,  discolored  by  time,  which  I 
found  among  the  author's  papers,  and  read  again  the 

'  L'heure  du  Berger  is  the  hour  when  the  gentle  shepherd  enjoys  the 
company  of  his  mistress.  —  Tr. 

2  Felix  Arvers,  —  a  very  clever  original  fellow  of  a  melancholy  tempera- 
ment, who,  nevertheless,  wrote  several  very  lively  and  successful  vaudevilles. 
He  died  young.  — P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  147 

title  and  the  four  autograph  lines,  I  can  hardly  be 
reconciled  to  the  thought  that  the  page  will  never  be 
filled.     • 

We  have,  however,  a  compensation  for  this  loss. 
Alfred,  who  had  trained  alternately  in  the  two  rollicking 
companies  commanded  severally  by  his  friend  Tattet 
and  Prince  Belgiojoso,  stopped  short  one  morning  and 
announced  that  he  had  had  dissipation  enough.  He 
compared  himself  to  a  shuttlecock,  sent  back  and  forth 
between  two  battledores,  and  was  resolved  to  declare 
his  independence  by  returning  to  his  mother's  lodgings. 
He  brought  back  a  quantity  of  new  impressions,  and, 
hence,  of  new  ideas.  He  donned  his  dressing-gown, 
flung  himself  into  his  arm-chair,  and  proceeded  to  read 
himself  a  better  lecture  than  his  father  or  his  uncle 
could  have  delivered.  From  this  unspoken  dialogue 
came  the  scene  between  Valentin  and  the  excellent  Van 
Buck,  and  afterwards  a  piece  in  three  acts,  entitled  "  II 
ne  Faut  Jurer  de  Rien."  So  it  is,  that  in  the  life  of  a  true 
poet  nothing  is  lost  or  useless.  The  characters  in  this 
little  piece  were  so  purely  comic,  and  the  denouement 
so  happily  conceived,  that  when  the  author  came  to  put 
it  on  the  stage,  there  were  very  few  alterations  to  be 
made. 

This  comedy  appeared  in  the  "  Revue  "  of  July  i,  1836, 
and  immediately  afterward  the  "  elastic  ball  "  resumed 
its  flights.  Then  came  another  return  to  our  home,  the 
same  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  his  study,  the  same  desire 
to  shut  himself  up  there,  the  same  allurements  offered 
to  a  Muse  who  only  feigned  resentment ;  for  our  poet 
had  now  no  serious  offence  with  which  to  reproach  him- 


148  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

self.     But  something  more  important  was  now  in  ques- 
tion than  the  amusing  conversation  of  Uncle  Van  Buck. 

The  "  Nuit  d'Aoilt "  was,  for  our  poet,  a  night  of 
veritable  rapture.  He  had  decorated  his  room  and 
thrown  open  the  windows.  The  light  of  the  candles 
played  over  the  flowers  that  filled  four  huge  vases  sym- 
metrically disposed.  The  Muse  came  in  the  guise  of  a 
youthful  bride.  No  festival  or  evening's  entertainment 
ever  compared  with  these  glorious  hours  of  facile  and 
fascinating  labor ;  and  since,  on  the  present  occasion, 
the  poet's  thoughts  were  peaceful,  his  heart  sound,  his 
mind  vigorous,  and  his  imagination  full  of  sap,  he  en- 
joyed a  pleasure  inconceivable  by  the  vulgar.  To  form 
an  idea  of  this  poetic  intoxication,  we  need  neither  recall 
what  has  been  told  of  the  effect  of  opium,  hashish,  or 
other  inebriating  poisons,  nor  that  accumulation  of  the 
more  refined  pleasures  of  sense  which  Oriental  story- 
tellers have  lavished  on  the  heroes  of  their  fabulous 
narratives.  One  must  judge  by  the  degree  of  enthusi- 
asm and  sensibility  with  which  he  is  himself  endowed, 
by  raising  to  the  tenth  power  the  pleasure  which  he 
receives  from  reading  this  beautiful  poem  of  the  "  Nuit 
d'Aout,"  what  the  author  must  have  enjoyed  in  writ- 
ing it. 

No  sorrowful  or  bitter  leaven  mingled  with  his  poetic 
intoxication  this  time,  and  his  happy  mood  lasted  for 
several  days.  All  through  the  composition  of  the 
"Nuit  d'Aoftt,"  the  poet  felt  himself  in  communion 
with  his  unknown  readers,  and  never  more  so  than  at 
the  close  of  the  last  stanza,  — 

"  Aime  et  tu  renaitras;  fais  toi  fleur  pour  ^clore." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  149 

The  spell  remained  unbroken  until  the  publication  of 
the  piece  ;  but,  on  the  morrow,  I  found  him  moody,  try- 
ing in  vain  to  read  a  chapter  in  some  new  novel  or  other. 
I  asked  what  ailed  him,  and  he  replied :  "  By  great 
good  luck,  the  fish  has  passed  some  days  in  the  water. 
At  present  he  is  sprawling  in  a  corn-field." 

I  took  him  off  to  the  swimming-school,  where  his 
body  at  least  might  be  restored  to  its  beloved  watery 
medium.  There  we  met  Prince  Belgiojoso  and  his  com- 
rades, who  invited  us  to  go  with  them  to  Broggi's  Italian 
restaurant.  After  a  dinner  seasoned  by  exercise  and 
keen  appetites,  we  had  some  music,  and  the  evening 
passed  merrily.  We  returned  rather  late ;  but,  before 
going  to  bed,  Alfred  attempted  to  finish  the  novel  which 
he  had  laid  aside  in  the  morning.  He  read  aloud 
to  me  a  sentence  in  which  we  counted  an  incredible 
number  of  adjectives.  Every  substantive  dragged  two 
or  three  in  its  train,  and  the  effect  was  most  uncouth. 
The  reader  in  high  good-humor  asked  me  what  I  thought 
of  it  all,  and  I  replied  in  the  words  of  L^andre:  "It  is 
very  much  the  fashion." 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  rejoined  Alfred,  "  what  the  good 
people  of  the  Provinces  think  of  such  a  style,  and 
whether  they  suppose  it  a  fair  sample  of  Parisian 
literature." 

After  discussing  this  question  until  a  very  late  hour  of 
the  night,  Alfred  conceived  the  notion  of  addressing  a 
letter  to  the  editor  of  the  "  Revue,"  in  the  character  of 
a  denizen  of  some  small  town.  We  talked  it  over ;  and 
he  concluded  that,  instead  of  giving  the  views  of  one 
provincial,  it  would  be  better  to  compare  the  impres- 


150  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

sions  of  two.  Stendhal,  whom  we  numbered  among  our 
friends,  had  published  sundry  articles,  sometimes  over 
the  signature  of  "  Dupuis,"  and  sometimes  over  that  of 
"Cotonet."  Alfred  adopted  these  two  names, enjoying 
the  idea  of  Stendhal's  own  mystification.  Soon  after, 
there  appeared  in  the  *'  Revue  "  the  first  letter  of  "  Two 
Inhabitants  of  Fertd-sous-Jouarre,"  on  the  abuse  of 
adjectives.-^  Under  a  light  and  attractive  form,  this 
letter  treated  with  clearness  and  force  a  question  of 
literary  taste,  and  it  created  a  considerable  sensation. 
Stendhal  was  enchanted  with  the  good  sense  of  his 
pseudonyms ;  but  people  persisted  in  attributing  the 
article  to  him,  and  he  had  great  difficulty  in  convincing 
them  that  he  was  not  its  author.  He  even  received 
complimentary  letters  from  a  great  distance.  But  the 
secret  was  soon  divulged.  Franz  Liszt  learned  it  from 
a  lady  to  whom  it  was  confided  by  the  editor  of  the 
"  Revue,"  and  Liszt  took  pleasure  in  imparting  it  to 
his  many  friends. 

A  distressing  piece  of  news  reached  Paris  at  about 
this  time.  The  newspapers  announced  the  death  of 
Mme.  Malibran.  Alfred  had  been  one  of  her  passionate 
admirers,^  and  her  untimely  death  affected  his  poetic 

'  Alfred  de  Musset  never  saw  "  Ferte-sous-Jouarre,"  all  statements  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding  of  pretended  biographers  who  deserve  a  differ- 
ent name.     He  chose  that  town  because  the  name  struck  his  fancy. 

2  But  only  an  admirer.  One  day,  in  a  railway-car,  I  heard  some  un- 
known persons  conversing  about  my  brother,  and  deploring  the  fact  that 
Mme.  Malibran  had  never  returned  his  affection  for  her ;  saying  that,  if 
she  had,  it  might  have  defended  the  charming  young  poet  from  another 
and  more  perilous  attachment.  The  story  was  retailed  freely  as  matter  of 
public  notoriety  ;  but  the  truth  is  that,  except  upon  the  stage,  Alfred  never 
saw  Mme.  Malibran  but  once  in  his  life,  when  she  sang  in  a  parlor,  and  that 
he  never  spoke  to  her. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  151 

sensibilities  keenly.  On  the  fifteenth  of  October,  he 
published  the  verses  which  one  so  often  hears  quoted, 
and  which  so  many  people  know  by  heart.  Perhaps  the 
poet  felt  in  himself  the  same  fatal  predilection  for  suf- 
fering with  which  he  reproached  the  great  singer  when 
he  wrote  the  famous  verse,  — 

"  Tu  regardais  aussi  la  Malibran  mourir." 
The  same  might  have  been  said  of  him  twenty  years 
later. 

The  year  1836  closed  amid  the  excitement  caused  by 
the  attempt  of  Meunier.  This  was  the  fourth  time  that 
the  king  had  narrowly  escaped  death.  Alfred,  who  did 
not  forget  the  hospitalities  of  Neuilly,  shared  the  uni- 
versal feeling.  He  wrote,  merely  for  his  own  satisfaction, 
a  sonnet,  which  he  did  not  intend  to  publish,  but  of 
which  his  friend  Tattet  requested  a  copy.  Tattet  showed 
the  copy  to  M.  Edouard  Bocher,  who  lent  it  to  his 
brother  Gabriel,  the  librarian  of  the  Due  d'Orleans ; 
and  so  it  was  that  the  verses  on  Meunier's  attempt 
came  to  the  notice  of  the  Prince  Royal.  An  express 
from  the  chateau  soon  brought  their  author  the  note 
which  follows :  — 

"  Our  common  friend  M.  Bocher  has  just  shown  me,  my 
dear  schoolfellow,  a  noble  page  extracted  from  your  poetical 
portfolio.  These  truly  fine  verses,  in  which  a  dry  and  ungra- 
cious subject  receives  dignity  from  the  elevation  of  the  poet's 
thought  and  his  noble  simplicity  of  expression,  would  have 
touched  me,  even  had  their  author  been  unknown.  It  is  with 
real  delight,  however,  that  I  recognize  in  them  the  sentiments 
of  an  old  school-comrade  ;  and,  as  I  read,  I  find  myself  carried 
back  to  younger  and  happier  days. 

"  I  wanted  to  thank  you  in  person  for  this  good  gift,  and  I 


152  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

seize  the  occasion  offered  by  New  Year's  day  to  beg  your 
acceptance  of  the  token  herewijh  offered  by  your  old  associ- 
ate, and  the  sincere  admirer  of  your  beautiful  gifts. 

"Ferdinand  Philippe  d'Orleans. 
"TuiLERiES,  Jan.  I,  1837." 

When  the  exchange  of  official  compliments  was  con- 
cluded, Alfred  de  Musset  repaired  to  the  palace.  The 
prince  received  him  with  open  arms  and  the  sonnet  in 
his  pocket.  He  drew  the  author  away  into  a  bay  win- 
dow, that  he  might  read  it  once  more,  and  then,  as  if 
aglow  at  the  perusal,  he  exclaimed :  "  I  have  not  yet 
found  an  opportunity  of  showing  your  verses  to  the 
king ;  but,  if  you  will  wait  five  minutes,  I  will  take  them 
to  him  now,  and,  if  he  likes  them  as  well  as  I  do,  I 
shall  tell  him  that  you  are  here." 

The  prince  went  in  search  of  the  king.  After  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  or  so,  he  came  back  with  a  disturbed 
countenance,  looking  both  sorry  and  embarrassed,  and 
said  that  the  king  was  not  visible  just  then,  but  would 
be  so  on  some  future  day  ;  which,  however,  he  did  not 
fix.  Alfred  felt  sure  that  the  sonnet  had  been  read,  and 
that  it  had  not  given  pleasure  ;  and  he  begged  the  prince 
to  tell  him  what  it  was  in  his  verses  which  had  offended 
the  royal  ears.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  acknowledged 
with  a  blush  that  it  was  the  familiarity,  —  the  tiitoiement. 
"  I  should  have  guessed  a  thousand  times  before  guess- 
ing that,"  replied  the  poet,  blushing  in  his  turn. 

The  school  friends  parted  in  equal  consternation. 
When  my  brother  had  repeated  to  me  this  strange  con- 
versation, we  proceeded  to  re-read  the  sonnet  together ; 
and  I  asked  myself  if  it  were  possible  that  the  king  — 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  153 

a  man  of  intellect  and  culture  —  had  really  been  offended 
by  language  which  Boileau  might  have  addressed  to 
Louis  XIV.  It  did  not  seem  so  ;  and  the  probability  is 
that  the  prince,  in  his  youthful  impetuosity,  had  disturbed 
his  father  by  appealing  to  him  at  an  inconvenient  time. 
The  king  heard  with  a  divided  attention,  and  sent  his 
son  off,  on  the  first  pretext  which  occurred  to  him.  The 
prince  bore  himself  gallantly  in  the  matter  towards  his 
former  comrade,  and  had  him  invited  to  the  palace  balls. 
A  singular  circumstance  afterwards  occurred,  which 
proved  that,  when  the  sonnet  had  been  shown  to  the 
king,  the  Due  d'Orleans,  perceiving  that  it  had  not 
made  a  good  impression,  had  the  good  taste  not  to  men- 
tion the  writer's  name.  On  the  day  when  he  was  actually 
presented,  Alfred  perceived  that  Louis  Philippe  looked 
pleased  at  the  mention  of  his  name.  "  Ah,"  said  the 
king,  coming  forward  as  though  agreeably  surprised, 
"  you  are  from  Joinville.     I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Alfred  was  far  too  well  bred  to  betray  the  slightest 
astonishment.  He  made  a  reverential  bow ;  and,  as  the 
king  passed  on  to  address  some  one  else,  he  cast  about 
him  to  discover  the  meaning  of  the  words  which  he  had 
just  heard,  and  the  smile  which  accompanied  them.  It 
then  occurred  to  him  that  we  had  at  Joinville  a  cousin, 
a  very  accomplished  and  delightful  man,  inspector  of 
forests  on  the  private  domain,  and  fully  worthy  of  that 
genial  welcome.  The  monarch  had  forgotten  his  son's 
school-days,  and  the  names  of  the  children  who  had 
visited  him  at  Neuilly ;  but  he  remembered  perfectly  the 
condition  and  aspect  of  his  own  estates.  The  name  of 
De  Musset  represented  to  him  an  inspector,  a  trust- 


154  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

worthy  overseer  of  his  own  woods,  by  whom  he  set  great 
store,  and  very  properly.  Throughout  the  last  eleven 
years  of  his  reign,  he  saw  once  or  twice  every  winter 
the  face  of  the  supposed  inspector  of  forests,  and  con- 
tinued to  bestow  upon  him  smiles  fit  to  arouse  the  envy 
of  more  than  one  courtier,  and  which  passed,  it  may  be, 
for  compliments  to  poetry  and  belles-lettres.  It  is  cer- 
tain, however,  that  Louis  Philippe  never  knew  that  there 
lived,  during  his  reign,  a  great  poet  who  bore  the  same 
name  as  the  inspector  of  his  woods. 


PART     THIRD. 

From  1837  to  1842. 


XI. 


'T^HE  contempt  of  literature  which  the  sovereign 
-*"  unconsciously  testified  by  his  gracious  words  and 
smiles  did  not  amuse  Alfred  de  Musset  as  much  as  it 
might  have  done ;  for  his  thoughts  would  recur  to  the 
days  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  he  felt  with  keen  regret  the 
difference  between  the  two  eras.  In  vain  I  reminded 
him  that,  in  our  time,  the  public  is  the  true  Maecenas. 
The  indifference  of  the  chief  of  the  nation  weighed  on 
his  heart.  He  was  ashamed  of  it,  and  unwilling  to 
allude  to  it,  save  in  the  chimney-corner.  Yet  the  kind 
attentions  and  affectionate  expressions  of  the  Prince 
Royal  were  some  consolation.  He  observed  one  day 
that  there  was  a  prince  who  would  bring  to  the  throne 
other  ideas  than  those  of  Louis  Philippe.  In  fact,  the 
Due  d'Orldans  had  a  confidential  conversation  with  his 
school  friend,  in  which  he  expressed  his  views  very 
freely  about  his  father's  politics,  and  the  isolated  posi- 
tion of  France  between  the  unfortunate  nations  whose 
cause  she  had  abandoned,  and  those  foreign  govern- 
ments which  were  ever  hostile  and  suspicious.  The 
prince  did  not  hesitate  to  hint  at  war  as  a  very  probable 
event  of  the  first  year  of  his  own  reign.  He  even 
quoted,  apropos  of  his  remark,  a  speech  of  Fantasio's. 
"We  will  make  a  trip  to  Italy,  and  enter  Mantua  with 
no  other  torches  than  our  swords.    And  when  peace  is 


158  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

concluded,"  added  the  prince,  "we  will  proceed  to 
amuse  ourselves.  We  will  give  employment  to  the  poets 
and  artists,  and  you  shall  write  verses  and  come  and 
read  them  to  us." 

In  the  midst  of  ttiese  discussions,  the  Princess  Hdlbne 
arrived  from  Germany.  With  what  pomp  the  marriage 
was  celebrated  is  well  known.  Amid  the  vast  galleries 
of  Versailles,  Alfred  dreamed  of  a  future,  fairer,  and 
worthier  of  a  great  nation  than  the  epoch  of  the  golden 
mean,  and  peace  at  any  price.  His  imagination,  "  sensi- 
tive as  the  magnetic  needle,"  discerned  afar  a  new  Re- 
naissance of  arts  and  letters,  a  brilliant  and  chivalrous 
reign.  At  twenty-six,  such  dreams  were  in  order,  and 
their  entertainment  seemed  justified  by  the  purposes 
and  opinions  of  the  Prince  Royal,  the  noble  character  of 
the  Duchesse  d'Orldans,  and  the  remarkable  talents  of 
the  Princess  Marie.  Side  by  side  with  the  old  court 
there  was  growing  up,  in  the  salons  of  the  heir-apparent, 
another  younger  and  more  vivacious  court,  graced  by 
the  fair  and  fascinating  figure  of  a  new  Margaret  of 
Valois.  Alfred  wished  to  prepare  himself  for  the  advent, 
nearer  or  more  remote  of  that  splendid  era,  which  would, 
he  believed,  give  a  name  to  the  nineteenth  century.  He 
applied  himself  more  zealously  than  ever  before  to  the 
polishing  and  perfecting  of  his  works,  and  the  care  of  his 
reputation.  During  the  years  of  1837-38,  he  worked 
calmly,  without  any  undue  excitement ;  still  under  the 
inspiration  of  his  heart,  for  he  could  not  do  otherwise, 
but  of  a  freer,  happier  heart  than  his  had  formerly  been. 
He  bore  the  vexations  of  life  more  patiently;  he  pre- 
ferred being  shut  up  among  his  books.    As  he  says  him- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  159 

self  in  the  "  Nuit  d'Octobre :  "  "  Oh  days  of  labor,  sole 
days  when  I  have  lived !    Oh  !  thrice  blessed  solitude ! " 

And,  since  this  happy  mood  impelled  him  to  works 
requiring  patient  application,  he  resolved  to  write  a 
series  of  novels ;  no  less  for  the  public  and  his  friends, 
than  for  the  future  court  of  Francis  I.  and  the  Queen  of 
Navarre.  Having  stimulated  his  enthusiasm  for  the 
story-teller's  art  by  reading  once  again  the  charming 
tales  of  Boccaccio,  he  desired  himself  to  display  that 
talent  for  narration  with  which  he  had  not  yet  been 
credited.  The  "  Confession  d'un  Enfant  du  Sibcle,"  had 
been  more  of  an  impassioned  appeal  than  a  romance. 
In  order  to  give  variety  to  his  works,  he  resolved  to  add 
another  prose  volume.  Ever  since  the  i8th  of  August, 
1836,  he  had  had  an  engagement  in  writing  with  the 
"  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  to  furnish  that  periodical 
a  society  novel.  The  subject  which  he  intended  to  treat 
was  that  of  "  Emmeline ; "  but  when  time  had  removed 
that  episode  of  his  experience  into  the  perspective  of 
the  past,  he  perceived  that  his  own  sorrow  had  magnified 
it.  Now  it  resumed  its  true  proportions,  which  were 
those  of  a  novelette ;  and  he  promised  to  fill  out  the 
proposed  volume  with  other  tales  of  the  same  sort,  if 
the  first  were  well  received. 

Suddenly,  a  wholly  different  subject  occurred  to  him. 
Among  the  little  tokens  which  he  was  always  receiving, 
there  had  been  a  net  purse  with  no  name  attached, 
the  giver  of  which  he  had  never  been  able  to  divine. 
After  having  suspected  all  the  ladies  of  his  acquaintance, 
he  drew  from  his  conjectures  the  subject  of  a  picture  of 
Parisian   life.    This  was  the  origin  of  the  "  Caprice." 


i6o  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Wishing  to  produce  a  fresh  type  of  the  perfect  woman 
of  the  world,  he  took  for  a  model  his  godmother, 
although  she  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  ad- 
venture of  the  net  purse.  The  conception  of  Mme.  de 
Lery  occurred  to  him,  with  her  gayety,  her  malice,  her 
picturesque  language,  her  keen  wit,  her  seemingly  frivo- 
lous character.  There  are  very  few  women  in  any  land 
capable,  like  Mme.  de  Lery,  of  using  in  the  interests  of 
morality  the  whole  arsenal  of  coquetry  \  of  doing  a 
good  deed  as  one  makes  an  April  fool,  and  extricating 
herself  cornpletely  from  a  dangerous  situation,  with  as 
much  cleverness  as  grace.  If,  however,  the  thing  is  pos- 
sible anywhere,  it  is  in  Paris  :  and  that  clearly  outlined 
figure  has  been  accepted  as  the  perfect  picture  of  a 
Parisienne  par  excellence.  Those  who  think  the  portrait 
flattered  are  free  to  consider  that  charming  creation, 
Mme.  de  Lery,  as  the  author's  tribute  of  gratitude  to 
those  women  of  Paris  whose  suffrages  he  has  always 
received. 

When  the  "  Revue  "  published  the  "  Caprice  "  (June 
i6,  1837),  it  was  talked  about  in  the  salons ;  but  the 
literary  world  at  large  affected  to  disregard  it,  as  though 
with  a  somewhat  ill-natured  sense  that  the  appreciation 
of  such  a  sketch  did  not  come  within  its  province.  The 
author  did  not  trouble  himself  about  this  silence,  but 
proceeded  to  write  "  Emmeline,"  which  was  completed 
in  a  few  days,  and  the  MS.  of  which  he  delivered  to  the 
printer  with  some  slight  reluctance.  This  was,  in  fact, 
his  first  genuine  romance.  He  had  undertaken  to  arouse 
interest  and  move  the  hearts  of  his  readers  by  the  sim- 
ple story  of  a  disappointment  in  love  and  a  sacrifice  to 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  i6l 

reason  and  duty.  Left  to  his  own  resources,  the  poet  of 
youth  found  that  in  attempting  merely  to  talk  well  with- 
out rhetoric  he  encountered  an  entirely  new  test.  The 
moment  his  story  was  out,  his  family  and  friends  reas- 
sured him  completely  about  the  result  of  the  experiment, 
and  the  "  Revue  "  called  for  more  tales.  He  at  once 
commenced  the  little  story  of  the  "  Deux  Maitresses," 
which,  in  his  modesty,  he  still  regarded  as  an  experi- 
ment. After  having  depicted  himself  in  Valentin,  he 
paused.  The  incidents  which  he  proposed  to  recount 
had  not  happened  to  himself,  although  he  had  long  be- 
fore found  himself  in  a  situation  very  like  that  of  the 
hero.  How  could  he  impart  an  air  of  truth  to  a  tale  the 
subject  of  which  must  seem  paradoxical  to  so  many 
people  ?  That  it  is  possible  to  love  two  women  at  one 
time  could  not,  as  his  godmother  remarked,  be  doubted 
by  Prince  Phosphor ;  but  to  prove  it  by  an  example  was 
not  so  easy.  The  first  six  pages  of  the  "  Deux  Mai- 
tresses" were  strewn  about  his  writing-table.  The  wa- 
vering author  had  planted  Valentin  on  that  spot,  and  gone 
off  with  his  friend  Tattet.  He  chanced  upon  a  bouillote 
party,  lost  his  money,  and  came  back  and  shut  himself 
up  in  his  chamber  a  sadder  man.  He  was  even  sulky 
the  next  morning  when  his  mother  brought  him  a  great 
bunch  of  roses  in  a  glass  of  water,  and  set  them  down 
before  him,  saying,  "  All  those  for  four  sous  1 "  His 
mother  stole  softly  away,  and  Alfred  felt  the  tears  come 
into  his  eyes.  "Ah,"  said  he,  "here  at  least,  is  some- 
thing true  !  I  can't  go  wrong  if  I  write  what  I  have 
really  felt." 

He  wrote  that  page  about  the  pleasures  of  the  poor, 


1 62  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

which  finishes  the  first  chapter  of  the  novel.  Once 
reconciled  with  his  subject,  he  worked  all  day  long,  and 
boldly  undertook  to  present,  under  the  form  of  candid 
recital,  the  romantic  scenes  and  events  which  had  taken 
place  in  his  own  imagination  onl}\  He  did  not,  however, 
quite  finish  his  little  romance,  and  the  new  detention 
occurred  on  this  wise. 

To  conceive  a  novel,  to  imagine  a  fable,  and  arrange 
the  plan  of  it,  had  been  the  affair  of  an  hour  of  fireside 
chat;  but  Alfred  realized  with  impatience  how  slowly 
the  manual  labor  advanced.  Often  he  would  be  dream- 
ing of  a  poetical  subject,  even  while  he  was  writing  prose. 
He  even  maintained  that  this  twofold  exercise  of  the 
faculties  was  rather  profitable  than  injurious  to  both 
efforts.  Knowing  perfectly  well  beforehand  what  he 
wanted  to  say  in  prose,  he  economized  the  time  required 
to  put  the  words  upon  paper  by  turning  over  in  his  head 
a  new  idea.  It  was,  he  said,  like  turning  your  eyes  to  a 
more  distant  star,  in  order  to  see  more  clearly  the 
sparkle  of  the  nearer  one.  Moreover,  a  chance  occur- 
rence recalled  him  to  poetry.  One  evening,  after  a  long 
conversation  with  a  lady  who  was  really  frankness  and 
kindness  personified,  he  began  to  suspect  her — I  do  not 
know  why  —  of  deceit  and  hypocrisy.  Convinced  almost 
immediately  of  the  injustice  of  his  suspicions,  he  sought 
within  himself  for  the  origin  of  his  odious  distrust,  and 
fancied  he  detected  the  cause  of  it  in  that  first  occasion 
of  his  life  when  he  had  come  in  contact  with  treachery 
and  falsehood. 

Even  while  he  related  the  loves  of  Valentin  and  Mme. 
Delaunay,   he  was    dreaming   of   early  memories   and 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  163 

sorrows  now  gone  by.  As  his  reminiscences  became 
more  poignant,  he  conceived  the  idea  of  a  supplement 
and  conclusion  to  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai."  He  felt  in  his 
soul  something  like  a  rising  tide.  His  Muse  smote  him 
upon  the  shoulder,  and  refused  to  wait.  He  rose  to  re- 
ceive her,  and  he  did  well;  for  she  brought  him  the 
"  Nuit  d'Octobre,"  which  is  in  fact  the  necessary  sequel 
to  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai,"  the  last  word  of  a  great  woe  : 
a  perfectly  legitimate,  as  well  as  a  most  crushing, 
revenge;  that  is  to  say, — forgiveness.  On  the  15th 
of  October,  the  "  Revue "  published  the  last  of  the 
"Nights;"  and,  on  the  ist  of  December,  the  "Deux 
Maitresses." 

By  way  of  profiting  by  a  mood  so  favorable  to  work, 
Alfred  searched  among  his  memories  for  another  ro- 
mantic subject,  and  the  gay  figure  of  Bernerette,  re- 
curred to  him.  The  veritable  adventure  was  somewhat 
desultory  in  its  action  ;  yet  he  made  of  it  one  of  his 
most  attractive  and  popular  stories.  Feeling  that  death 
alone  could  expiate  the  faults  of  the  wayward  girl,  and 
soften  the  reader's  heart  toward  sins  of  youth  for  which 
so  severe  a  penalty  was  paid,  he  condemned  his  heroine 
to  a  tragic  end.  While  the  true  Bernerette  was  roaming 
the  country,  no  one  knew  where,  the  ideal  Bernerette 
died  at  twenty;  and  the  amours,  begun  in  laughter  and 
nonsense,  finished  with  despair  and  suicide. 

Like  the  history  of  Valentin,  that  of  Fr^d^ric  and 
Bernerette  suffered  an  interruption.  The  author  had 
long  been  tormented  by  the  insoluble  problem  of  the 
destiny  of  man,  and  the  ultimate  aim  of  life.  I  used 
often  to  find  him  with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands, 


164  Biography  of  Alfred  de  M us  set. 

determined  by  sheer  force  to  pierce  the  impenetrable 
mystery,  seeking  some  ray  of  light,  either  in  the  depths 
of  space,  or  the  spectacle  of  the  external  world  or  his 
own  heart ;  calling  on  science,  on  philosophy,  on  all 
creation  for  proofs  and  way-marks,  and  finding  only 
systems,  reveries,  negations,  conjectures,  and,  at  the  end 
of  all,  —  doubt. 

The  subject  of  his  reflections  became  a  fixed  idea,  he 
wanted  me  to  discuss  it  with  him,  and  we  were  frequently 
at  it  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  read  with 
inconceivable  eagerness,  the  ancients  and  the  moderns, 
the  English,  the  Germans,  Plato,  Epictetus,  Spinoza, 
down  to  M.  de  Laromiguiere  himself ;  and,  as  may 
readily  be  supposed,  he  found  himself  none  the  better. 
Oftentimes,  repelled  by  the  overweening  dogmatism  of 
some,  and  the  indecision  and  obscurity  of  others,  he 
closed  his  books,  and  resumed  where  he  had  left  it  the 
story  of  his  poor  Bernerette.  But,  on  the  day  when  he 
laid  his  heroine  in  her  grave,  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes ; 
as  he  penned  the  last  page  his  scepticism  vanished, 
and  he  said  a  word  to  me  which  I  shall  never  forget. 
"  I  have  read  enough,"  said  he.  "  I  have  scanned  and 
searched  enough !  Tears  and  prayer  are  essentially 
divine.  It  is  God  who  gave  us  the  faculty  of  weeping, 
and  tears  come  from  Him  to  us,  and  prayer  returns  from 
us  to  Him."  On  the  succeeding  night  he  began  the 
"  Espoir  en  Dieu." 

The  readers  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  when 
they  read  in  that  magazine,  with  only  a  month  inter- 
vening between  the  dates  of  their  appearance,  the  history 
of  a  grisette,  and  an  invocation  to  the  Creator,  can  hardly 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  '         165 

have  suspected  the  correlation  between  these  two  so 
dissimilar  efforts.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  death 
of  Bernerette,  by  provoking  in  the  heart  of  the  author  a 
fleeting  compassion  for  an  imaginary  woe,  drowned  all 
the  philosophies  of  the  world  in  a  single  drop  of  water. 
The  verses  on  the  "  Mi-Careme,"  which  immediately  fol- 
lowed the  above-mentioned  publications,  furnish  a  yet 
more  striking  proof  of  the  versatility  of  this  young  and 
impressionable  mind.  One  evening,  at  some  ball  or 
other,  the  cotillon  was  very  ill-managed,  and  Alfred 
seized  the  occasion  to  pronounce  a  eulogy  on  the  waltz, 
which  he  had  been  meditating  ever  after  reading  in  Lord 
Byron's  poems  a  bitter  criticism  on  the  same  dance. 
When  he  had  avenged  the  "  Belle  Nymphe  aux  Brode- 
quins  dores,"  he  returned  to  his  novels. 

At  the  time  when  he  discovered  among  the  memorials 
of  the  Italian  painters  the  story  of  "  Andrea  del  Sarto," 
he  had  also  been  smitten  by  another  subject,  too  meta- 
physical to  be  treated  under  the  form  of  a  drama  or 
comedy,  but  which  he  kept  in  reserve.  Encouraged  by 
the  manager  of  the  "  Revue "  to  continue  his  series 
of  novelettes,  he  looked  up  among  his  notes  the  story 
of  "Tizianello."  After  mastering  an  excellent  style  of 
painting  in  his  father's  studio, — says  the  history,  whether 
true  or  false,  —  the  son  of  the  celebrated  Titian  produced 
only  one  work,  the  portrait  of  his  mistress ;  but  that 
work  was  a  masterpiece. 

In  order  to  enter  more  completely  into  the  views  of 
his  hero,  the  author  adopted  them,  and  maintained  this 
theory,  —  that  one  masterpiece  is  enough  for  the  glory 
of  one  man  ;  and  that  when  a  genius  has  once  proved 


1 66  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

what  he  can  do,  he  ought  to  stop  there  and  not  lay  him- 
self open  to  the  charge  of  deterioration,  like  Corneille, 
Guido,  and  Titian  himself.  In  our  discussions  I  took 
the  other  side,  and  pleaded  the  cause  of  assiduity  and 
fecundity.  The  obscurity  which  shrouds  the  name  of 
Titian's  son,  and  the  immense  reputation  of  his  father, 
were  all  in  my  favor ;  but  my  brother  undertook  to  con- 
vert me  by  the  example  of  his  hero,  of  whom  nothing 
is  known  except  that  he  had  a  great  deal  of  talent,  and 
only  once  condescended  to  prove  it.  Of  all  his  brief 
romances  the  "  Fils  du  Titien  "  is  undoubtedly  the  one 
which  was  written  with  most  enjoyment  and  enthusiasm. 
He  was  determined  to  make  it  a  gem,  and  he  added  the 
ornament  of  two  sonnets  composed  for  the  occasion, 
which  were  supposed  to  furnish  irrefragable  proof  of  the 
cleverness  and  poetic  talent  of  the  hero,  who  could  be 
proved  a  great  painter  only  in  writing.  The  whole 
month  of  April  was  devoted  to  this  effort ;  and  this  time, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  no  interruptions  occurred. 

The  "  Fils  du  Titien  "  appeared  in  the  "  Revue  "  for 
May  I,  1837.  Some  personal  reminiscences  may  be 
detected  in  the  episode  of  the  purse,  and  the  behavior 
of  the  hero's  prodigal  son.  A  good  many  readers  will 
doubtless  be  pleased  to  observe  how  skilfully  some  slight 
reflection  from  the  author's  own  experience  is  occasion- 
ally introduced  in  the  midst  of  fictitious  circumstances 
belonging  to  a  remote  time.  Alfred  thought  this  ro- 
mance one  of  his  best  productions,  both  by  reason  of  the 
sonnets  which  he  considered  faultless,  and  of  the  dis- 
tinguished character  of  the  subject.  He  had  treated  it 
so  conscientiously  that  he  took  a  six  months'  rest  after 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  167 

its  publication,  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  Tizianello. 
But  the  time  had  not  yet  arrived  for  him  to  take  a  vow 
of  inaction,  and  offer  reasons  for  his  silence. 

One  evening  his  bile  had  been  stirred  by  a  discussion 
at  the  cafe,  in  the  course  of  which,  certain  envious  per- 
sons had  more  or  less  vilified  every  contemporary  repu- 
tation ;  and  the  fancy  occurred  to  him  to  translate  into 
verse  the  doctrines  which  he  had  been  opposing,  and  so 
carry  war  into  the  camp  of  his  adversaries.  The  result 
of  this  satirical  whim  was  the  idyl  of  "Dupont  and 
Durand." 

At  the  house  of  the  Duchesse  de  Castries,  Alfred  de 
Musset  met  an  extremely  beautiful  woman  who  had  just 
read  the  "Espoir  en  Dieu,"  and  complimented  him 
highly  on  the  beauty  of  its  versification.  He  replied 
lightly,  but  with  the  utmost  respect,  that  he  was  sorry  he 
could  not  wear  so  delightful  a  compliment,  like  a  flower 
in  his  button-hole.  The  lady  went  into  the  country  the 
next  day;  but,  a  few  days  later,  Alfred  received  an  enve- 
lope containing  a  little  bouquet  of  white  flowers,  tied 
with  a  thread  of  silk.  He  was  not  the  man  to  allow  so 
graceful  an  attention  to  pass  unnoticed,  and  he  replied 
by  the  verses  "  To  a  Flower."  Afterwards  he  saw  the  lady 
again  at  long  intervals,  and  her  beauty  was  always  one 
of  his  great  admirations.  She  died  young,  while  still 
beautiful  and  very  much  the  fashion ;  and  her  death  was 
a  sudden  and  terrible  one.^ 

Pauline  Garcia  had  recently  arrived  in  France,  a  mere 
child,  but  already  famous.  She  had  been  heard  but  once 
in  Paris,  at  the  Belgian  minister's  ;  the  second  time  she 
1  She  was  accidentally  burned.  —  P.  M. 


1 68  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

was  to  appear  at  a  musical  matinee  at  the  house  of 
Alfred's  godmother,  before  an  audience  composed  of 
genuine  dilettanti.  Prince  Belgiojoso  was  there,  and  so 
was  Deasaiier,  a  composer  of  much  talent,  who  died 
shortly  afterwards  in  Germany.  Mile,  Garcia  began  by 
singing  Deasaiier's  lovely  air,  "  Felice  Donzella,"  in 
D  minor.  The  author  accompanied  her  himself.  I 
fancy  I  can  still  feel  the  thrill  of  delight  which  ran 
through  the  audience  at  the  opening  measures.  We 
declared  that  it  was  the  voice  of  Malibran  herself,  but 
with  more  freshness,  more  compass,  a  more  velvet 
smoothness,  and  without  that  slight  hoarseness  which 
never  quite  wore  ofif  under  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Of 
course,  our  excitement  reacted  on  the  youthful  singer, 
and  the  applause  nerved  her  up  to  such  a  degree  that 
she  remained  a  long  while  at  the  piano,  resisting  her 
mother's  attempts  to  draw  her  away.  After  Deasaiier's 
piece,  came  an  air  of  Bdriot's  and  then  one  of  Costa's, 
and  finally  the  whole  repertory  of  boleros  and  ariettas. 
The  connoisseurs  were  simply  ravished  at  the  marvellous 
compass  of  that  voice,  the  quality  of  tone,  the  excel- 
lence of  her  method.  Meanwhile,  Alfred  de  Musset, 
presented  by  his  godmother,  undertook  to  converse  with 
the  young  girl  on  the  highest  themes  of  art,  and  found 
her  —  so  he  liked  to  say — as  deeply  versed  as  any  old 
professor.  He  came  home  from  that  seance  in  the  high- 
est spirits,  repeating  over  and  over  again,  "  Oh,  what 
a  glorious  thing  genius  is  !  How  fortunate  we  are  to 
live  in  a  time  when  it  still  exists,  and  we  can  observe 
it  closely !  "  Just  as  though  he  had  not  been  full  of  it 
himself ! 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  169 

Subsequent  talks  with  Pauline  Garcia  about  music 
and  the  stage  confirmed  him  in  the  conviction  that,  by 
care  and  prudence,  she  might  become  the  worthy  suc- 
cessor of  Malibran.  That  year  (1836)  was  a  year  of 
high  hopes.  Of  course,  there  must  be  an  idolized  singer 
for  the  future  court  of  France  and  that  aesthetic  revi- 
val to  which  we  were  all  looking  forward.  Chance  had 
ordained  that  she  should  be  of  the  blood  of  the  Garcias. 
It  was  a  clear  case  of  predestination.  Two  new  events 
occurred  which  added  lustre  to  the  promises  of  the 
future, — the  birth  of  the  Comte  de  Paris,  and  the 
advent  of  Mile.  Rachel.  In  the  early  days  of  August, 
the  booming  of  cannon  informed  the  populace  of  the 
safe  delivery  of  the  Duchesse  d'Orleans.  There  were 
already  two  generations  of  heirs  to  the  crown  of  July. 
Alfred  was  moved  to  testify  to  the  prince  who  had 
honored  him  with  his  friendship  his  own  participation 
in  the  happiness  of  the  royal  family.  He  composed 
some  verses  on  the  subject  that  very  day,  and  the  tribute 
was  finished  before  we  learned  from  the  "  Moniteur  " 
what  were  to  be  the  names  and  titles  of  the  newcomer. 
His  father  desired  to  place  him  under  the  special  pro- 
tection of  the  city  of  Paris. 

Three  daj's  after  the  birth  of  the  prince,  on  the  first 
of  September,  1838,  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes " 
published  some  stanzas,  to  which  the  friends  of  the 
author  called  the  attention  of  the  Due  d'OrMans ;  and 
a  messenger  from  the  palace  brought  to  the  poet  a 
pencil-case  ornamented  with  a  diamond.  It  has  been 
said,  in  several  of  the  more  or  less  trustworthy  notices 
which  have  appeared  since  Alfred  de  Musset's  death, 


I/O  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

that  the  place  of  Librarian  of  the  Department  of  the 
Interior  was  given  him  in  reward  for  his  verses  on  the 
birth  of  the  Comte  de  Paris.  This  is  not  exactly  true. 
The  place  became,  vacant,  and  the  minister  offered  it  to 
M.  Buloz.  The  manager  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  "  thought  best  to  decline  it,  but  suggested  instead 
one  of  his  associates.  After  assurances  that  the  appoint- 
ment would  be  a  good  one,  he  gave  the  name  of  his 
candidate. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  minister  had  not 
read  so  much  as  a  line  by  the  writer  recommended.  He 
knew  something  by  hearsay  of  the  "  Ballad  to  the  Moon," 
and  characteristically  remarked  to  M.  Buloz,  "  I  have 
heard  some  talk  about  the  dot  over  an  i,  and  I  thought  it 
a  rather  hazardous  expression.  I  should  not  wish  to 
compromise  myself." 

When  Alfred  heard  of  the  steps  kindly  taken  by  M. 
Buloz,  he  requested  the  support  of  the  Due  d'OrMans. 
The  prince  promised  to  intercede  with  the  minister,  who 
had  already  another  person  in  view.  Then  came  six 
weeks  of  parleying.  M.  Edmond  Blanc  was  somehow 
mixed  up  in  it.  Finally,  on  the  19th  of  October,  the 
appointment  was  signed,  and  the  author  of  the  dot  over 
an  i  became  the  Librarian  of  the  Department  of  the 
Interior. 

At  that  time  there  was  living  next  us,  in  the  same 
house,  a  certain  physician,  a  very  accomplished  man, 
and  professor  of  lithotrity,  with  whom  Alfred  liked  to 
talk  about  physiology  and  medicine.-^      One   day  our 

*  His  name  was  L^on  Labat,  and  his  destiny  a  strange  one.  During  a 
Journey  to  the  East,  on  which  his  wife  had  accompanied  him,  he  cured  the 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  171 

neighbor  brought  in  from  the  country  an  exceedingly 
pretty  little  serving-maid,  about  fourteen  years  of  age, 
in  the  costume  and  head-dress  of  her  native  village. 
With  the  doctor's  permission,  Alfred  questioned  the 
child  and  made  her  tell  him  her  story.  She  had  not 
very  much  to  say;  but  Alfred  treasured  in  his  memory 
a  great  store  of  conversations  with  children  and  young 
girls,  having  a  positive  adoration  for  innocence  and 
ingenuousness.  The  image  of  the  farm  of  Clignets, 
forgotten  for  almost  twenty  years,  recurred  to  his  mind. 
This  furnished  him  with  a  landscape,  and  his  poetic 
imagination  supplied  the  rest.  The  fable  was  composed ; 
and,  on  the  first  of  October,  the  "  Revue  "  published 
the  story  of  "  Margot." 

Just  at  that  moment,  there  dawned  upon  us  one  of 
those  geniuses  who  sway  the  world.  A  child  of  seven- 
teen had  restored  tragedy  to  life,  —  tragedy  which  had 
apparently  been  buried  for  ever  in  the  tomb  of  Talma. 
It  seemed  as  if  this  maiden  had  suddenly  discovered 
the  true  meaning  of  verses  which  the  whole  world  knew 
by  heart  The  attempt  to  rejuvenate,  by  a  new  interpre- 
tation, consecrated  and  even  antiquated  masterpieces,  if 

Shah  of  Persia  of  a  chronic  kidney  complaint,  which  had  been  pronounced 
incurable.  The  Shah  would  not  part  with  him ;  appointed  him  his  own 
physician-in-chief,  and  loaded  him  with  honors,  decorations,  and  gifts.  M. 
Labat  consented  to  reside  in  Persia  :  but  he  did  not  forget  his  native  land ; 
and  his  ascendancy  over  the  mind  of  the  Shah  became  very  serviceable  to 
the  Frenchmen  resident  in  the  domains  of  that  prince.  On  a  certain  occa- 
sion, some  French  and  English  merchants  were  disputing  about  privileges, 
and  M.  Labat  caused  the  balance  to  incline  to  the  side  of  his  compatriots. 
Shortly  afterward  he  was  poisoned  by  his  servants.  He  treated  his  own 
case,  and  very  skilfully,  but  his  health  was  ruined.  He  returned  to  France, 
arranged  his  worldly  affairs,  and  went  calmly  to  Nice  to  die,  persuaded  that 
he  was  the  victim  of  British  vengeance.  —  P.  M. 


1/2  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

made  by  a  great  artist,  always  succeeds.  The  public 
taste  readily  goes  back  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  al- 
though it  is  equally  ready  to  resume  upon  the  morrow 
its  onward  motion.  Mile.  Rachel  had  but  to  open  her 
Corneille  and  Racine,  and  her  fortune  was  at  once 
assured.  After  she  had  twice  or  thrice  lifted  up  her 
voice  in  the  desert  where  the  faithful  guardians  of  tradi- 
tion preach,  she  found  one  night  a  few  attentive  listen- 
ers. The  tidings  were  whispered  from  one  to  another. 
The  newspapers,  unwilling  to  be  behindhand,  made 
haste  to  announce  the  new  planet.  All  Paris  flocked 
in,  with  a  curiosity  which  soon  became  enthusiasm  ;  and 
it  was  decided  that  tragedy  must  still  exist,  since  we  had 
undoubtedly  a  great  tragedienne. 

Alfred  de  Musset  was  one  of  the  first  to  recognize  the 
genius  of  Mile.  Rachel.  For  two  months  he  did  not 
miss  a  single  one  of  her  representations,  and  the  very 
first  day  I  heard  him  joyously  exclaim:  "We  have  two 
Malibrans  instead  of  one  !  Pauline  Garcia  has  a  sister  ! " 
As  might  have  been  expected,  the  classicists  raised 
shouts  of  triumph.  They  made  haste  to  proclaim  that 
the  resurrection  of  a  class  of  works  long  since  aban- 
doned was  the  death-warrant  of  others  which  had 
recently  been  introduced  upon  the  stage.  The  roman- 
ticists, on  their  part,  dissembled  their  fears,  insisted 
that  the  public  was  beside  itself,  and  that  the  phantom 
of  tragedy  would  speedily  return  to  its  grave.  Alfred 
de  Musset  thought  there  was  as  much  of  injustice  and 
unreason  on  one  side  as  on  the  other,  and  he  undertook 
to  reconcile  the  contending  parties.  He  published  a 
dissertation  in  which  he  argued  that  tragedy  and  the 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  1 73 

romantic  drama  could  perfectly  well  exist  side  by  side, 
and  need  ask  nobody's  leave  to  live.  When  he  had 
defined  the  character  of  the  young  actress's  genius,  and 
demonstrated  that  genius  was  neither  too  ambitious  nor 
too  flattering  a  word  to  be  applied  to  her,  the  author 
approached  the  literary  question.  He  began  by  assuring 
the  romanticists  that  they  need  not  hope  for  the  speedy 
disappearance  of  the  new  craze  for  tragedy ;  but  neither 
did  he  allow  the  classicists  to  count  upon  the  utter  an- 
nihilation of  the  class  which  dispenses  with  the  unities. 
He  then  took  a  rapid  survey,  both  of  antique  tragedy 
and  that  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  showed  how 
they  were  severally  adapted  to  the  tastes  of  Athens  and 
Versailles.  But  now  that  all  theatrical  conditions  were 
changed,  the  author  expressed  the  hope  that  we  might 
see  a  third  variety  of  dramatic  compositions,  more  in 
harmony  with  our  own  manners  than  either,  and  par- 
taking of  the  qualities  both  of  antique  tragedy  and 
the  modern  drama.  He  briefly  sketched  the  plan  of  a 
new  poetic  school,  and  closed  as  follows :  "  These  are 
the  questions  which  I  would  like  to  propose  to  those 
writers  who  are  justly  in  high  favor  among  us,  provided 
any  of  them  are  induced,  as  they  probably  will  be,  by 
the  talent  of  the  young  artist  who  has  restored  the 
honors  of  the  old  repertory,  to  arrange  a  new  part, 
specially  for  her."  ^ 

No  one,  however,  profited  by  this  poetical  proclama- 
tion, which  might  have  aroused  the  antique  Muse  without 
sacrificing  to  her  the  conquests  of  modern  art.      The 

'  "  On  Tragedy  considered  with  reference  to  the  Debut  of  Mile.  Rachel," 
"  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  Nov.  i,  1838. 


174  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

author  of  the  article  himself  was  alone  capable  of 
putting  its  principles  in  practice.  But  it  would  be  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  he  dreamed  of  saying  to  him- 
self, "  Do.  you  write  a  tragedy  for  Mile.  Rachel."  The 
pitiable  insults  of  the  Odeon  pit  had  for  ever  banished 
the  thought  of  the  theatre  from  his  head.  Moreover, 
he  was  not  one  of  those  who,  when  they  see  an  artist  in 
high  favor,  have  no  scruple  about  thrusting  forward 
their  own  talent,  for  the  sake  of  attaching  their  fortunes 
to  hers.  He  never  would  have  thought  of  writing  a  part 
for  Mile.  Rachel,  unless  she  had  begged  him  to  do  so. 
This  did  actually  happen  twice,  as  we  shall  see  farther 
on,  and  it  is  exceedingly  to  be  lamented  that  the  project 
came  to  nought  both  times.  Let  this  be  added  to  the 
other  signs  of  the  times, — that  any  thing  fine  and  good 
in  the  way  of  poetry  or  art  will  infallibly  fail,  provided 
its  success  require,  I  will  not  say  the  concurrence  of 
several  persons,  but  even  the  steadfast  accord  of  two 
wills.  So  foreign  to  the  modern  imagination  are  all 
save  monetary  and  material  rewards  !  The  great  tragic 
actress  herself  did  not  escape  the  malady  of  her  age,  as 
the  close  of  her  career  plainly  shows.  But  nobody  fore- 
saw this  at  the  point  which  we  have  now  reached.^ 

When  the  article  in  the  "  Revue "  appeared,  Rachel 
had  already  restored  to  the  stage  five  works  out  of  the 
old  repertory;  namely,  "Cinna,"  "Horace,"  "Andro- 
maque,"  "  Mithridate,"  and  "  Tancrbde."  During  the  last 
days  of  November,  she  added  a  sixth  to  this  list,  and  ap- 
peared in  the  part  of  Roxanna.  This  time  the  journals  all 
agreed  in  charging  her  with  the  grave  blunder  of  having 
'  This  page  was  written  in  1862. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  175 

attempted  a  part  which  did  not  suit  her.  Her  friends 
were  more  alarmed  than  she  was  herself,  her  only  senti- 
ment being  one  of  anger.  Precisely  because  he  was  not 
a  professional  critic,  Alfred  thought  he  ought  to  under- 
take her  defence.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  showing  that 
Rachel  had  displayed  in  Roxanna  the  same  qualities 
and  the  same  genius,  as  in  her  previous  parts,  and  that 
here,  as  always,  her  peculiar  conception  of  the  character 
had  brought  out  novel  effects.  He  then  asserted  that,  if 
she  had  made  her  first  appearance  in  "Bajazet,"  the 
critics  would  have  smothered  her  with  praise,  and  poured 
out  upon  her  devoted  head  all  the  riches  of  their  compli- 
mentary vocabulary.  But  Roxanna  was  her  sixth  im- 
personation ;  and  there  was  the  difficulty,  —  epithets  were 
exhausted.  There  were  no  more  compliments  in  the 
bin ;  and,  after  we  have  admired,  it  always  looks  well  to 
show  ourselves  doubtful  and  difficult  to  please.  "  And 
this,"  said  the  author,  "is  the  way  judgment  is  pro- 
nounced ;  at  least,  in  the  newspapers." 

The  ill-humor  of  the  Monday  papers  was  diverted 
from  the  actress  to  her  champion ;  but  Alfred  was  not 
disconcerted,  for  the  public  was  of  his  mind.-^  The  per- 
formances of  "  Bajazet"  attracted  the  same  crowds  as  the 
former  tragedies  had  done,  and  the  incensed  Roxanna 
was  avenged  by  their  applause.  Rachel  continued  as 
long  as  she  lived  to  play  that  beautiful  part,  notwith- 

'  On  the  6th  of  December,  1838,  Jules  Janin  published  in  the  "Journal 
des  D^bats,"  an  attack  on  the  defenders  of  Mile.  Rachel,  in  which  he 
called  Alfred  de  Musset  a  third-class  poet.  The  same  critic  had  the  au- 
dacity to  set  up  above  Rachel  a  certain  Mile.  Maxime,  long  since  entirely 
forgotten.  There  is  no  excuse  for  enormities  of  this  kind  which  are  not 
committed  in  good  faith.  —  P.  M. 


1/6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

standing  the  charitable  advice  which  she  had  received  to 
abandon  it ;  and  those  who  persisted,  whether  for  the 
sake  of  making  themselves  notorious  or  from  whatever 
motive,  in  waging  an  impious  and  cruel  war  upon  this 
highly  gifted  woman  so  long  as  she  lived  coined  money 
afterwards  over  the  body  of  the  dead  Rachel,  strewed 
her  grave  with  artificial  flowers,  and  shed  above  it  tears 
adulterated  by  speculation. 

Aipid  this  breaking  of  lances,  by  virtue  of  which 
Alfred  lived  absorbed  in  the  happy  life  of  art,  he  was 
informed  that  Mile.  Garcia  was  to  sing  in  a  concert  at  the 
Thdatre  de  Renaissance  (at  present  the  Italian  theatre. 
Place  Ventadour).  Ever  since  the  musical  mating  to 
which  the  godmother  had  bidden  us,  some  twelve  or 
fifteen  admirers  of  this  precocious  genius  had  formed 
among  ourselves  a  defensive  league  to  assist  her  first 
public  appearance  in  Paris.  Among  the  more  ardent 
members  of  this  band,  were  MM.  Maxime  Jaubert, 
counsellor  in  the  Court  of  Appeals,  Berryer,  Augusta 
Barre,  the  sculptor,  Prince  Belgiojoso,  Baron  Denier, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  and  his  brother,  and  a  number  of 
society  men,  who  by  their  position,  knowledge,  and  au- 
thority might  exercise  a  considerable  influence.  We 
embraced  every  opportunity,  not  merely  of  hearing 
Pauline  Garcia  sing,  but  of  conversing  with  her.  We 
informed  ourselves  about  the  young  girl's  purposes; 
we  were  absorbed  in  her  interests,  which  were  to  some 
slight  extent  our  own,  since  we  were  determined  to 
attract  her  to  Paris  and  detain  her  there.  In  order  to 
render  her  stay  agreeable,  we  must  secure  her  a  success 
proportionate  to  her  talent.    When  she  deigned  to  con- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  M us  set.  177 

suit  us,  we  weighed  the  pros  and  cons  of  every  question 
with  extreme  solicitude,  and  highly  approved  in  these 
consultations  the  prudence,  experience,  and  good  sense 
of  her  mother,  the  widow  of  the  great  Garcia. 

Summoned  by  circulars,  we  attended  the  concert  in  the 
Th^dtre  de  Renaissance,  some  time  in  December,  1838. 
The  sister  of  Malibran  was  disposed  to  be  satisfied. 
She  did  not  need  the  assistance  of  her  friends.  The 
public  applauded  her  with  a  fervor  which  detracted 
nothing  from  the  regrets  bestowed  on  Malibran.  Alfred 
de  Musset  was  not  able  to  be  present  at  the  concert, 
but  he  called  on  the  young  cantatrice  at  her  lodging,  and 
she  sang  him  the  whole  programme.  In  an  article  in 
the  "  Revue,"  he  said  with  his  customary  modesty  that 
he  was  no  musician,  but  gave  proof  of  a  profound  feel- 
ing for  the  art  of  which  he  professed  ignorance.  I  do 
not  think  that  the  talent  of  Pauline  Garcia  was  ever 
more  justly  defined  and  appreciated  than  in  those  six 
pages  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes."  For  the  three 
months  that  he  had  been  pleading  the  cause  of  the 
youthful  Muses  of  tragedy  and  song,  the  sincere  and  im- 
partial critic  only  had  appeared.  It  was  time  for  the  poet 
to  take  his  turn,  and  a  very  simple  incident  effected  it. 

Alfred  has  himself  told  the  story  in  an  article  in  the 
"  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  for  January  i,  1839,  which 
closes  with  a  well-known  piece  of  verse  addressed  to 
Rachel  and  Pauline  Garcia. 

"  Unhappily,"  said  the  too  modest  poet,  "  it  is  not  for 
me  to  follow  these  gifted  young  creatures." 

But  who  should  follow  them  if  not  he?  He  might 
have  said :  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  follow  them,  but  to  take 


178  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

them  by  the  hand,  and  lead  them  into  the  right  way  of 
art  and  beauty  and  truth."  But  the  sigh  of  regret  which 
he  heaved  was  perfectly  sincere.  The  meaning  of  it  was, 
"  Ah,  if  I  were  only  thought  worthy,  how  gladly  would  I 
employ  my  talents  in  the  service  of  such  interpreters  !  " 

So  ended  the  year  1838,  the  most  prolific  and  the 
happiest  year  of  my  brother's  life,  because  it  was  the 
richest  in  illusions. 

But  there  was  something  beside  the  poetic  amours,  the 
artistic  pleasures,  and  the  triumphs  which  I  have  detailed. 
His  happiness  could  not  have  been  complete,  if  the 
heart  had  not  had  its  share  therein.  Ever  since  1837, 
Alfred  had  met  often  in  society  a  very  young  and  very 
pretty  woman  of  an  enthusiastic  and  impassioned  nature, 
and  occupying  an  independent  position,  —  one  who  act- 
ually bought  the  works  of  poets,  although  it  was  not  then 
the  fashion  to  do  so.  They  talked  together  in  Parisian 
drawing-rooms.  They  corresponded  during  a  necessary 
absence  of  hers  in  the  provinces. 

The  correspondence  was  literary  when  it  began. 
Afterwards  it  became  lover-like.  I  have  seen  frag- 
ments of  it  which  might  belong  to  the  series  of  the 
Portuguese  letters. 

The  frank  and  loyal  spirit  of  the  lady  was  something 
so  new  to  Alfred  that  he  was  deeply  enamored  of  it. 
The  connection  lasted  two  years,  during  which  there  was 
neither  quarrel,  nor  storm,  nor  coolness  of  any  kind, 
nor  any  occasion  for  jealousy  or  offence  ;  and  this  is 
why  there  is  no  story  to  be  told  about  it.  Two  years  of 
unclouded  love  are  not  to  be  described.  Real  happi- 
ness has  no  history. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel.  179 


XII. 

/^NE  evening  in  the  month  of  January,  1839,  after  a 
^-^  good  day's  work,  Alfred  counted  in  my  presence 
the  pages  of  his  novel  of  "  Croisilles,"  which  he  had 
just  completed.  When  he  had  estimated  approximately 
the  number  of  pages  in  the  "  Revue "  which  the  MS. 
would  fill,  he  exclaimed :  ^^  Finis  prosce  !  "  I  asked  him 
what  he  meant. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  anybody  can  tell  a  love 
story  more  or  less  charmingly,  although  there  is  a  differ- 
ence between  Boccaccio  and  the  light-literature  column. 
But  since  I  can  express  myself  in  a  language  not  spoken 
by  the  first  man  you  meet,  I  wish  and  intend  to  confine 
myself  to  that." 

I  respected  his  scruples,  and  the  only  argument  in 
favor  of  prose-writing  which  I  brought  forward  was  the 
pecuniary  one. 

"  Just  look,"  he  rejoined,  "  at  those  two  inspired  young 
girls,  whose  ddbuts  we  have  just  watched  with  so  keen 
an  interest.  They  would  never  disown  their  vocation. 
They  could  not  be  turned  out  of  their  course  by  any 
pecuniary  offer  whatever.  Pauline  Garcia  would  not 
take  an  engagement  at  the  Opdra  Comique.  Rachel 
would  not  deign  to  recite  a  bit  of  melodrama.  I  propose 
to  follow  my  own  line  as  they  do." 

He  proceeded  to  read  me  his  novelette  of  "  Croisilles," 
which  I  thought  charming,  although  it  evidently  required 


l8o  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel. 

one  more  scene,  which  was  so  clearly  foreshadowed  that 
it  seemed  impossible  to  relinquish  the  thought  of  it. 
After  taking  the  old  aunt  of  Croisilles  in  a  hired  car- 
riage to  the  financier's,  to  request  the  hand  of  his 
daughter,  he  should  not  have  stopped  there.  Why  not 
portray  the  old  lady's  grand  airs,  the  father's  excite- 
ment, then  the  cooling  of  the  good  man's  wrath,  the 
change  of  his  ideas  from  black  to  white,  and  finally 
his  granting  through  vanity  what  he  had  once  refused 
from  pride.  There  was  a  comic  situation  all  outlined, 
which  it  would  scarcely  have  taken  him  two  hours  to 
fill  out.  But  nothing  would  induce  the  naughty  boy  to 
attempt  it.  "  No,"  he  persisted,  "  I  have  decided,  and  I 
shall  not  go  back."  "  Croisilles "  came  out  on  the 
fifteenth  of  February,  1839,  and  when  the  author  was 
criticised  for  the  abruptness  of  its  termination,  he  only 
rubbed  his  hands  and  repeated,  '^ Finis  proses/" 

He  was  paying  attention  at  that  time  to  a  female 
artist  of  talent,  who  treated  him  with  a  hardness  and 
lack  of  confidence  the  more  inexplicable  because  he 
had  done  her  genuine  service.  I  did  not  understand, 
until  a  long  time  afterward,  why  it  was  that  this  exceed- 
ingly clever  woman  should  have  allowed  herself  to  enter- 
tain a  prejudice  against  a  man  whose  poetic  gallantries 
might  have  made  her  immortal.  Her  unjust  and  inex- 
plicable sternness  mortified  Alfred  de  Musset,  and  in  a 
moment  of  spite  he  wrote  the  stanzas  to  Mademoiselle 

which  begin,    "  Oui,  femme,  quoi  qu'on  puisse 

dire."  But  this  terrific  reproach  was  not  his  last  word ; 
for  the  ensuing  year  he  addressed  to  the  same  person 
the  verses  entitled  "  Adieu,"  in  which  his  anger  appears 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  i8i 

greatly  softened.  At  the  actual  moment  of  separation, 
the  poet  could  feel  nothing  but  regret.  Moreover,  neither 
of  these  poems  was  sent  to  its  address,  and  the  lady 
who  inspired  them  may  have  read  them  ten  years  later 
without  recognizing  them.  Alfred  always  communicated 
these  personal  poems  to  his  godmother,  who  was  the 
depositary  of  his  inmost  thoughts,  and  gave  her  copies 
of  them.  On  the  morrow,  he  was  agitated  about  some- 
thing else.  Two  other  pieces  of  the  same  sort,  which  he 
composed  in  the  spring  of  1839,  are  probably  still  hid- 
den away  in  ladies'  drawers,  and  will  come  to  light  some 
day,  if  Heaven  pleases. 

Alfred  continued  anxiously  to  watch  the  progress  of 
the  two  noble  children,  as  he  called  Rachel  and  Pauline 
Garcia.  On  the  twenty-sixth  of  March,  the  godmother 
issued  a  circular  letter  inviting  all  her  friends  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  "  Theatre  du  Gymnase  Dramatique,"  at  a  per- 
formance given  for  the  benefit  of  Mme.  Volnys,  at  which 
Mile.  Garcia  was  to  sing  with  Mme.  Damoreau.  A  few 
days  later,  Mile.  Garcia  left  for  England ;  and  the  Lon- 
don papers  soon  apprised  us  that  she  had  made  her  first 
appearance  there  in  the  part  of  Desdemona.  A  letter 
addressed  to  the  godmother,  and  shown  to  us,  contained 
the  following  passage :  — 

"The  public  wanted  the  air  '  Ch6  Smania,'  in  the  second 
act,  repeated.  But  I  would  not  interrupt  the  dramatic  action, 
and  kept  straight  on.  I  contented  myself  with  coming  before 
the  curtain.  In  the  third  act,  they  were  determined  to  make 
me  repeat  the  romanza  of  the  '  Willow,'  and  the  '  Prayer.' 
How  could  I .''  I  should  have  had  to  have  a  glazier  come  to 
Othello's  house  and  mend  the  broken  pane  of  glass,  that  he 
might  break  it  anew  !  So,  in  spite  of  the  uproar  of  encorest 
I  would  not  stop." 


1 82  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Alfred  was  never  weary  of  lauding  the  courage  and 
conscientiousness  of  this  inexperienced  young  girl, 
more  preoccupied  with  the  right  rendering  of  her 
piece  than  with  her  personal  success,  and  coping 
thus  with  the  London  public  on  the  very  day  of  her 
dibut.  He  saw  foreshadowed  the  future  of  another 
Malibran. 

Rachel,  all  whose  performances  he  attended,  interested 
him  no  less.  One  evening  in  May,  he  met  her  in  the 
corridor  of  the  Palais  Royal,  coming  out  of  the  Thditre 
Frangais,  and  she  bore  him  off  to  supper  along  with  a 
band  of  artists  and  other  friends.  In  his  posthumous 
works  may  be  read  a  curious  description  of  that  supper. 
*'  It  was,"  says  the  author,  "  a  picture  by  Rembrandt, 
and  a  scene  out  of  Wilhelm  Meister  in  one."  Shortly 
afterward  his  table  was  heaped  with  the  works  of  Sis- 
mondi  and  Augustin  Thierry,  and  he  was  sketching  the 
plan  of  the  "  Servante  du  Roi."  I  have  told  elsewhere 
why  this  tragedy  was  never  finished  ;  but  when  he  was 
at  work  on  the  fourth  act,  —  in  July;  1839,  —  i^  would  not 
have  seemed  possible  that  so  fine  a  project  should  mis- 
carry. Rachel  read  the  monologue  of  Fr^degonde,  and 
from  this  sample  demanded  the  rest  of  the  piece.  While 
the  poet  was  dreaming  over  it,  his  friends,  and  particu- 
larly the  manager  of  the  "  Revue"  reproached  him  with 
his  silence.  His  idleness  was  not  without  a  purpose  \ 
nevertheless,  it  was  injurious  to  his  interests. 

It  is  a  notorious  fact,  that  none  but  English  edi- 
tors pay  largely  for  literary  wares  of  a  superior  quality. 
With  French  publications,  it  is  quite  otherwise;  and 
quantity  is  all  in  all.       Remuneration   is   very   slight, 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  183 

unless  one  fills  a  great  many  pages.  Alfred  always 
managed  his  money  matters  badly.  He  knew  as 
little  about  the  balance  between  his  receipts  and  his 
expenses,  as  about  the  modern  science  of  numbers. 
The  slightest  incident,  the  most  fleeting  impression,  was 
enough  to  make  the  Muse  descend ;  but,  if  the  result 
did  not  furnish  much  matter  for  the  typographers,  he 
got  his  credit  extended,  so  that  the  fruits  of  his  labor 
were  often  consumed  in  advance,  and  when  the  day  of 
settlement  came  he  experienced  a  sincere  regret.  Never- 
theless, his  novelettes,  although  they  had  not  occupied 
much  space  in  the  "  Revue,"  had  produced  sums  round 
enough  to  be  appreciable  by  the  author,  and  a  good  many 
people  in  his  case  would  have  made  this  fact  the  basis 
of  a  speculation.  In  him,  however,  this  work,  which 
was  better  paid  than  his  poetry,  occasioned  a  kind  of 
desperate  vexation.  It  was  a  case  of  literary  conscience 
such  as  no  explanation  could  make  quite  clear  to  the 
men  of  the  present  generation. 

One  day  I  was  trying  to  persuade  my  brother  to  re- 
turn, at  least  for  a  time,  to  his  prose  novelettes.  I  repre- 
sented to  him  that  his  affairs  were  in  confusion,  and  that 
the  misfortunes  of  Galsuinde  and  the  ambition  of  Frddd- 
gonde  could  not  set  them  straight.  At  first  he  repudiated 
the  notion  of  interrupting  his  historical  studies,  and 
diverting  the  current  of  his  ideas ;  but  afterwards  he 
became  alarmed  at  the  thought  that  his  immense  credits 
were  about  to  be  converted  into  pressing  debts.  Two 
or  three  tales  might  serve  as  a  solution  of  all  his  diffi- 
culties. Alfred  consented  to  look  over  his  notes  with 
me,  and  there  he  found  the  sketch,  in  six  lines,  of  a  brief 


184  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

romance,  the  hero  of  which  was  Christopher  Allori,  the 
Florentine  painter.  He  instantly  warmed  to  this  sub- 
ject, which  was  really  very  fine.  We  had  been  talking 
it  over  for  an  hour  when  M.  Felix  Bonnaire  came  in. 
He  came,  at  a  venture,  to  ask  for  something,  either  in 
prose  or  verse  for  the  "Revue;"  expecting  only  the 
habitual  response,  "  I  neither  have  hatched,  nor  will  I 
hatch,  any  thing,  O  Bonnaire ! "  Hence  he  was  agree- 
ably surprised  when  he  heard  of  the  project  which  we 
had  been  discussing.  Alfred  felt  that  he  was  perfectly 
safe,  when  he  promised  in  writing  to  furnish  three 
novelettes  in  three  months ;  and  M.  Bonnaire  departed, 
pleased  at  having  secured  some  pages  of  printed  matter 
for  the  "  Revue."  Alfred  congratulated  himself  on  being 
free  from  two  importunate  creditors  ;  and  I  was  de- 
lighted to  think  that  the  "  Fils  du  Titien  "  would  soon 
have  a  worthy  pendant. 

But  in  the  night  the  wind  changed.  When  I  went 
into  his  room  next  morning,  my  brother  overwhelmed 
me  with  reproaches.  "  You  have  turned  me,"  he  said, 
"  into  a  mere  thinking  machine,  —  a  serf  attached  to  the 
glebe,  —  a  galley-slave  condemned  to  penal  labor  !  " 

He  proceeded,  in  his  exaggerated  style,  to  draw  a  ter- 
rible picture  of  the  prose- writer,  painfully  bending  over 
his  table,  with  two  hundred  pages  in  his  head,  but 
barely  able  to  produce  a  dozen  in  six  hours :  pausing, 
exhausted,  with  red  eyes,  and  fingers  stiff  with  fatigue, 
and  dolorously  regarding  the  scrawl  before  him,  poor 
product  of  his  day's  labor ;  haunted  by  the  rest  he  had 
to  say,  and  appalled  at  having  said  so  little,  and  falling 
from  languor  into  complete  disheartenment. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  185 

Like  the  wise  father  of  La  Fontaine's  young  widow,  I 
suffered  the  torrent  to  flow  on.  I  then  attempted  to 
make  the  infuriated  poet  understand  that  a  novel  was  not 
to  be  summoned  into  existence  by  a  drum-beat ;  that  the 
"  Fils  du  Titien,"  "  Emmeline,"  and  "  Croisilles  "  itself 
had  been  written  with  too  much  zest  to  betray  the 
slightest  effort ;  that  facility  of  execution  enhanced  the 
pleasure  of  the  reader ;  and,  moreover,  that  I  had  never 
myself  observed  the  author  in  that  galley-slave  condition 
of  which  he  had  drawn  so  formidable  a  picture. 

"  But  I  very  soon  should  be  in  such  a  condition,"  he 
replied,  "  if  I  listened  to  you  !  I  need  only  fulfil  the 
engagements  which  I  have  made !  Give  me  back  my 
debts  and  my  creditors !  I  prefer  to  be  in  debt !  I  will 
toil  and  moil  when  I  see  fit.  Now  I  am  going  back  to 
the  race-course ! " 

Convinced  that  this  sublime  despair  would  soon  sul> 
side,  I  waited  patiently  for  the  return  of  his  working 
mood.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  the  poet  was  less 
excited,  but  more  gloomy.  When  his  money  matters 
had  been  arranged  in  accordance  with  the  aforesaid 
agreement,  he  owned  that  he  felt  relieved ;  but  did  not 
immediately  begin  to  work,  and  he  would  not  so  much 
as  speak  of  the  painter  AUori.  I  felt  positive  remorse 
for  having  subjected  him  to  the  critical  alternative  of 
working  against  the  grain,  or  failing  to  fulfil  his  engage- 
ment. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  Alfred  lighted  one  morning 
upon  a  flat  magazine-story,  in  which  he  detected  several 
gross  blunders.  With  an  astuteness  which  amazes  me 
even  now,  he  divined,  three  years  in  advance,  that  this 


1 86  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

new  style  of  literature  would  bring  about  a  revolution, 
and  seriously  corrupt  the  public  taste. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said,  handing  me  the  story,  "  and  tell 
me  how  long  the  literature  of  the  imagination  is  likely 
to  survive,  if  it  goes  on  stultifying  itself  and  its  readers 
at  this  rate." 

I  endeavored  to  show  him  that  all  writers  were  not 
jointly  and  severally  responsible  for  the  anachronisms 
contained  in  one  tale ;  and  that  the  author  of  "  Emme- 
line  "  need  not  fear  being  confounded  with  the  fashion- 
able craftsmen. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  he  said,  "  that  this  portiere  style  of 
literature  is  evoking  a  whole  new  world  of  ignorant  and 
semi-barbarous  readers  ?  I  know  very  well  that  it  will 
die  of  its  own  excesses ;  but  it  will  first  disgust  all  deli- 
cate minds  with  reading.  Meantime,  I  renounce  it. 
There  shall  be  nothing  in  common  between  us,  —  not 
even  the  utensil.  I  wish  I  might  never  touch  a  pen 
again.  Thank  God,  a  bit  of  chalk  or  a  burnt  match  will 
do  to  write  a  verse  with  ! " 

The  days  and  weeks  slipped  by.  Felix  Bonnaire 
called  from  time  to  time  to  inquire  for  the  promised 
novelettes.  One  day,  Alfred  said  to  him :  "  Come  again 
to-morrow.     They  will  be  all  done." 

Bonnaire  gave  me  an  inquiring  look ;  and  I  signified 
that  I  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it.  After  he  was  gone, 
my  brother  said :  "When  a  man  finds  himself  in  a  blind 
alley,  and  cannot  turn  back  because  he  has  a  sword 
sticking  in  him,  all  he  can  do  is  to  make  a  hole  in  the 
wall,  and  go  through." 

After  dinner,  during  which  he  said  little,  Alfred  shut 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  187 

himself  up  in  his  room.  In  the  middle  of  the  night,  I 
fancied  I  saw  him  come  into  my  room  on  tiptoe,  with  a 
light  in  his  hand ;  but  he  did  not  make  noise  enough 
fully  to  awake  me.  In  the  morning  when  I  got  up,  I 
remembered  the  vision ;  and  I  glanced  toward  a  certain 
shelf  of  my  book-case,  where  I  had  deposited  a  pistol- 
case.  The  box  was  gone ;  but  I  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  put  the  caps  and  the  powder  away  in  a  bureau 
drawer,  where  they  still  remained. 

Alfred  came  down  to  breakfast,  as  usual.  He  appeared 
depressed,  and  made  scarcely  any  reply  to  my  inquiries 
about  his  nocturnal  visit.  A  letter  was  brought  him, 
which  he  read  and  re-read.  It  was  from  Mile.  Rachel, 
inviting  him  to  spend  some  days  with  her  at  Montmo- 
rency, where  she  had  rented  a  country-seat.  He  set 
forth  in  high  spirits,  forgetting  to  take  the  pistol-case, 
which  I  restored  to  its  place.  I  do  not  know  what  there 
was  in  Rachel's  note  beside  the  invitation  j  but  it  is 
certain  that,  during  his  stay  at  Montmorency,  the  poet 
amused  his  hostess  so  well  by  his  disquisitions  on  the 
arts,  and  by  talk  both  grave  and  gay,  that  she  was  very 
unwilling  to  have  him  return  to  Paris.  On  his  return, 
still  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
godmother,  in  which  —  contrary  to  his  usual  custom  of 
giving  a  full  account  to  that  beloved  lady  of  all  the  im- 
pressions which  he  received  —  he  hardly  alluded  to  the 
Montmorency  visit,  but  described  some  more  recent 
experiences,  and  wound  up  with  this  sentence :  "  How 
captivating  she  was  the  other  evening,  running  about 
her  garden  with  her  feet  in  my  slippers ! "  I  confine 
myself  to  quoting  this  passage,  leaving   the  reader  to 


1 88  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

draw  such  deductions  as  he  may  choose.  He  will  at 
least  venture  to  conclude  that  this  incident  must  have 
made  a  pleasing  variety  in  the  life  of  an  intellectual 
galley-slave.  A  gust  of  wind  seemed  to  have  dispersed 
all  his  gloomy  thoughts.  Nevertheless,  the  contract  with 
the  "  Revue  "  still  existed ;  and,  once  at  home  again,  the 
slave  felt  the  ball  tugging  at  his  foot.  The  face  of  Fe- 
lix Bonnaire  soon  reappeared ;  and,  to  avoid  him,  Alfred 
ran  away  to  the  country  with  M.  Berryer,  where  he  met 
his  godmother,  and  forgot  his  cares  in  the  society  of  a 
large  and  delightful  circle.  The  manager  of  the  "Re- 
vue "  was  too  much  his  friend  sternly  to  exact  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  engagement  within  the  prescribed  time  ;  still, 
it  was  necessary  to  give  him  some  sort  of  satisfaction. 

On  his  return  from  the  Chateau  d'Augerville,  Alfred, 
beset  by  the  memory  of  his  promise,  yet  unable  to  sur- 
mount his  repugnance  to  keeping  it,  shut  himself  up  in 
his  own  room,  and  refused  to  see  any  one.  I  saw  him 
only  at  meal-times,  and  did  not  dare  ask  what  he  was 
doing.  One  day,  as  he  was  leaving  the  table,  he  said  to 
me,  with  a  strange  expression  of  bitterness  and  vexation, 
"  You  insist  upon  prose.  Well,  I  will  give  you  some." 
I  besought  him  to  tell  me  his  plans.  His  writing-table 
was  strewn  with  manuscript  sheets ;  but  there  was  no 
title  on  the  first  page,  and  I  asked  him  what  his  subject 
was.  "You  will  know  presently,"  he  said,  "what  the 
name  of  it  is.  It  is  neither  a  reminiscence,  for  the 
story  is  not  precisely  my  own;  nor  a  romance,  for  I 
speak  in  the  first  person.  There  is  too  much  that  is 
imaginary  for  you  to  call  it  a  confession,  and  too  much 
that  is  true  for  a  mere  made-up  story.    It  is  a  production 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  189 

without  a  name.  The  genuine  thing  about  it  is,  unhap- 
pily, the  grief  which  dictated  it,  the  tears  which  I  have 
shed  while  putting  it  on  paper."  He  then  took  up  his 
MS.,  and  read  me  his  fantastic  performance.  The  fol- 
lowing is  the  introduction  :  — 

"  Although  the  motive  which  impels  you  is  sufficiently  con- 
temptible (being  only  an  idle  curiosity),  I  will  tell  you  all  you 
wish  to  know.  You  are  almost  a  stranger  to  me,  and  your 
sympathy  or  compassion  would  be  of  no  use  to  me  whatever. 
For  what  you  may  say  I  care  still  less,  for  I  shall  never  know 
it.  Yet  I  will  show  you  the  depths  of  my  heart  as  frankly 
and  fully  as  if  you  were  one  of  my  dearest  friends.  You  need 
be  neither  surprised  nor  flattered  by  this.  I  carry  a  load 
which  is  crushing  me  ;  and,  when  I  talk  to  you,  I  give  it  a  pre- 
liminary shake,  before  casting  it  off  for  ever. 

"  What  a  story  I  could  tell  you,  if  I  were  only  a  poet ! 
Here,  in  the  midst  of  this  wilderness,  in  view  of  these  moun- 
tains, what  would  not  a  man  like  Byron  say,  if  he  had  my 
sufferings  to  describe  !  What  sobs  you  would  hear !  And 
these  ice-fields  would  hear  them  also.  But  Byron  would  talk 
to  you  in  the  open  air,  on  the  verge  of  some  precipice.  I, 
gentlemen,  propose  to  close  my  window.  It  suits  me  to  con- 
verse with  you  in  the  chamber  of  an  inn ;  and  I  make  use, 
very  properly,  of  a  language  which  I  despise,  —  a  coarse  instru- 
ment without  strings,  abused  by  every  chance-comer.  It  is 
my  business  to  talk  prose,  and  to  tell  in  the  style  of  the  news- 
papers, between  a  pallet  and  aiiandful  of  fagots,  the  tale  of 
an  ineffable,  unfathomable  grief.  I  like  to  have  it  so.  It  suits 
me  to  drape  with  rags  the  sad  romance  which  was  my  story, 
and  to  fling  into  the  corner  of  a  hovel  a  fragment  of  the  sword 
which  was  broken  in  my  heart. 

"  Do  not  suppose  that  my  woes  have  been  of  a  very  ele- 
vated kind.  They  are  by  no  means  those  of  a  hero.  They 
would  merely  furnish  the  subject  of  a  novel  or  melodrama. 
Listen  to  me  as  you  listen  to  the  wind  that  whistles  in  the 
crack  of  the  door,  and  the  rain  which  beats  against  the 


IQO  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

windows,  —  not  otherwise.  I  was  a  poet,  a  painter,  a  musi- 
cian. My  miseries  have  been  those  of  an  artist ;  my  misfor- 
tunes, those  of  a  man.  Read  as  if  you  were  reading  your 
own  journal." 

There  followed  the  story  of  a  young  man  of  abundant 
gifts,  the  spoiled  child  of  an  affluent  family,  who  made 
verses,  composed  music,  and  painted  pictures  for  his  own 
pleasure  merely,  but  with  success.  This  part  of  the  narra- 
tive was  made  up  out  of  the  experiences  of  the  author's 
own  childhood  and  youth.  By  way  of  exhibiting  in  the 
strongest  possible  light  the  meanness  and  vulgarity  of 
his  present  trouble,  Alfred  began  with  the  story  of  his 
first  grief,  and  the  wound  which  he  had  received  in  Italy.* 
An  unexpected  reverse  of  fortune  suddenly  altered  the 
hero's  position.  Obliged  to  support  a  grandmother 
and  four  young  sisters,  he  turned  his  talents  to  practical 
account,  and  began  to  write  novels.  His  first  efforts 
were  successful,  and  the  publishers  asked  for  more.  He 
imposed  upon  himself  a  daily  stint.  His  head  soon 
became  tired,  and  his  invention  was  exhausted  ;  but  his 
necessities  were  such  that  he  could  allow  himself  no 
relaxation.  He  must  write,  write  incessantly.  After  a. 
year  of  this  torture,  the  ypung  man.  lost  heart,  as  will 
appear  from  the  ensuing  scene  :  — 

"  One  night,  —  or  rather  one  morning ;  for  I  had  written  till 
day-break, —  I  was  seated  at  my  table,  having  just  completed 
a  volume.  Not  only  must  I  deliver  to  the  printer  my  pages 
barely  dry,  but  I  must  re-read,  with  my  weary  eyes  on  that 
gray  paper,  the  melancholy  result  of  my  vigils.     My  sisters 

'  Extracts  from  this  portion  of  his  MS.  have  been  given  in  pages  128-136 
of  the  second  part. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  191 

were  asleep  in  the  next  room;  and,  while  I  fought  with  drowsi- 
ness, I  could  hear  their  breathing  through  the  partition.  I 
was  so  weary  that  I  felt  completely  disheartened.  Still  I 
finished  my  task,  and,  the  moment  it  was  done,  I  buried  my 
head  in  my  hands.  I  do  not  know  why  it  was  that  every  res- 
piration of  the  children  filled  me  with  profound  sadness.  The 
last  chapter  of  my  book  had  described  the  death  of  two  lovers. 
It  was  hurriedly  and  carelessly  done,  like  all  the  rest ;  and  the 
chapter  lay  before  me.  Mechanically,  I  cast  my  eyes  over 
it,  and  a  strange  association  occurred  to  me.  I  got  up  half 
asleep,  took  down  the  poem  of  Dante  from  my  library, 
and  began  to  read  over  the  story  of  '  Francesca  da  Rimini.' 
You  know  that  the  passage  contains  not  more  than  twenty-five 
verses.  I  read  it  several  times  in  succession,  until  the  senti- 
ment of  it  pervaded  my  entire  being.  Then,  forgetful  of  my 
sleeping  sisters,  I  repeated  it  aloud.  When  I  came  to  the 
last  verse,  where  the  poet  falls  to  the  ground  like  one  dead,  I, 
too,  sank  weeping  upon  the  floor. 

"'Twenty-five verses,'  I  said  to  myself,  'may make  a  man 
immortal.  How  ?  Because  he  who  reads  these  twenty-five 
verses,  after  a  lapse  of  five  centuries,  if  he  have  a  heart,  falls 
down  himself  and  weeps,  and  a  tear  is  the  truest  and  least 
perishable  thing  in  all  the  world.  But  where  do  we  find  these 
twenty-five  verses  ?  Drowned  in  three  poems  !  They  are  not 
the  only  fine  ones,  it  is  true,  and  they  may  not  be  the  finest ; 
but  they  would  suffice,  by  themselves,  to  save  the  poet  from 
annihilation.  And  who  knows  but  their  accompaniment, — 
the  three  long  poems. — and  all  the  thoughts,  and  all  the 
journeys,  and  the  expatriated  Muse,  and  the  ungrateful  com- 
patriots, were  needful  that  these  twenty-five  verses  might  be 
found  in  a  book  which  is  not  read  from  beginning  to  end 
by  two  hundred  persons  in  a  year?  It  is,  then,  the  habit  of 
sorrow  and  toil  —  it  is  misfortune,  if  not  misery — which  makes 
the  fountain  flow  ;  and  it  is  enough  (is  it  not  ?)  if  a  drop  be 
treasured  up.  But,  if  in  lieu  of  this,  grief  and  toil,  poverty 
and  custom,  combine  to  dry  up  the  living  spring,  to  degrade 
and  exhaust  the  man,  what  becomes  of  the  drop  which  might 


192  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

have  fallen,  —  the  tear  which  might  have  been  so  fruitful  ?     It 
will  run  out  upon  the  pavement  and  be  lost.'  "  * 

At  this  point,  the  reader  paused.  His  hearer  was  as 
much  moved  as  himself,  and  felt  a  weight  upon  his 
heart.  We  both  kept  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  I  asked  for  the  rest.  After  the  picture  of  that 
night  of  anguish,  came  a  dissertation  on  the  poet  and 
the  prose-writer.^  The  rest  was  only  projected ;  but  this 
was  what  was  to  happen :  The  hero  of  the  tale,  dis- 
gusted with  hack-writing,  turned  eagerly  to  painting, 
and  soon  became  a  tolerably  skilful  genre  painter.  But 
he  presently  found  himself  confronted  by  the  old  diffi- 
culties. Family  expenses  and  every-day  necessities 
obliged  him  often  to  lay  aside  his  brush  for  the  sake  of 
giving  lessons,  or  to  wield  the  crayon  of  the  lithographer. 
He  went  to  the  Louvre,  and  wept  before  the  smiling  face 
of  the  "Joconde,"  as  he  had  wept  before  the  shade  of 
Francesca  da  Rimini.  The  next  day,  he  abandoned 
painting,  planted  himself  before  the  piano,  and  passed 
whole  nights  in  the  study  of  the  great  composers.  But 
notwithstanding  all  his  efforts,  and  two  or  three  triumphal 
evenings,  he  could  not  surpass  the  common  throng  of 
concert  musicians.  He  returned  to  Paris,  and  relapsed 
into  obscurity.  For  the  third  time,  he  shed  barren  tears 
of  despondency  while  performing  on  his  piano  the 
Requiem  of   Mozart. 

It  was  during  this  third  night  of  despair  that  the 
artist  resolved  to  emancipate  himself  by  suicide.  But, 
before  his  death,  he  desired  to  prepare  some  memento 

'  From  the  "  Poete  Dechu." 

2  It  appeared  in  the  posthumous  volume. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  193 

of  his  passage  through  life.  He  wanted,  just  once,  to 
yield  to  the  impulse  of  his  heart,  and  to  make  his  last 
cry  of  anguish  audible  to  those  who  had  suffered  like 
torments  with  himself. 

With  this  purpose,  he  slipped  away  one  morning  on 
the  imperial  of  a  diligence,  and  made  his  way  to  Switzer- 
land. There,  in  the  chamber  of  an  inn,  he  hurriedly 
wrote  a  fragment  of  his  own  Memoirs.  To  the  tale  of 
his  sufferings,  he  added  a  few  scraps  of  poetry,  the  last 
being  a  farewell  to  life.  He  composed  music  for  these 
verses ;  and  then  opened  his  box  of  colors,  and  took  his 
own  portrait. 

I  demurred  a  little  to  the  denoHment.  The  author 
wanted  to  carry  things  to  extremes  ;  and  either  fling 
his  hero  over  an  Alpine  precipice,  arranging  the 
circumstances  so  that  his  death  might  seem  acci- 
dental, or  simply  light  a  chafing-dish.  I  objected 
to  so  gloomy  an  ending.  It  seemed  to  me  an  ad- 
ditional wrong  to  our  poor  century,  already  so  loudly 
decried,  to  represent  a  young  man  of  the  finest  gifts 
yielding  to  the  pressure  of  undeserved  misfortunes, 
while  in  the  performance  of  honorable  duties.  I  stated 
to  the  author  the  following  dilemma:  either  the  hero 
will  not  be  thought  to  have  had  real  talent,  or  he  will  be 
accused  of  lacking  courage  and  perseverance.  To  which 
the  poet  replied :  "  It  rests  with  me  to  prove  that  he  had 
talent.  If  his  verses  are  good,  and  his  prose  eloquent, 
that  will  be  enough."  We  continued  to  discuss  the 
question,  and  I  expressed  a  wish  that  the  last  three 
works — the  "Farewell  to  Life,"  the  piece  of  music, 
and  the  portrait,  all  of  them  inspired  by  the  same  gen- 

13 


194  Biography  of  Alfred  -de  Mussel. 

uine  sentiment  —  might  come  to  the  notice  of  some  dis- 
cerning person,  and  be  recognized  as  masterpieces. 

*'  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  author's  modesty  ? " 
interrupted  my  brother. 

I  replied  that  the  author  could  very  easily  vindicate 
that,  if  he  would  only  take  the  trouble. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  only  one  way  to  content  you.  It 
would  be  to  introduce  upon  the  scene  a  young  girl  trav- 
elling in  Switzerland  with  her  father.  She  must  have  a 
fine  ear,  and  must  hear  him  singing  the  '  Adieu  k  la  Vie.' 
The  sentiment  of  the  verses  and  the  accents  of  the 
singer  will  show  her  that  his  music  is  no  mere  pastime. 
Poetry,  music,  and  likeness  will  all  appear  admirable  to 
her,  and  the  young  man  himself  yet  more  interesting. 
The  hero  will  be  rescued  by  love,  and  I  shall  escape 
the  charge  of  fatuity ;  for  the  enthusiasm  of  a  woman 
for  her  lover's  lucubrations  does  not  prove  them  to  be 
masterpieces." 

Without .  committing  himself  to  this  idea,  Alfred 
promised  to  consider  it.  But  when  he  said  to  me,  one 
evening,  speaking  of  Jacopo  Ortis,  "  The  world  only 
pities  the  misfortunes  of  which  one  dies,"  I  knew  very 
well  that  he  was  reverting  to  his  tragical  termination. 
A  few  days  later,  he  read  me  his  "  Idylle  de  Rodolphe 
et  Albert ;"  and  asked  me  whether  that  bit  of  verse,  if  it 
were  slipped  in  among  the  papers  of  his  hero,  would  not 
suffice  to  make  the  reader  accept  him  for  a  poet.  I  told 
him  the  only  trouble  was  that  the  "  Idylle "  was  too 
beautiful,  and  that  people  would  not  readily  believe  but 
that  such  verses  might  have  saved  their  author. 

"  And  why  should  they  not  believe  it  ? "  he  exclaimed. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  195 

"  Either  I  deceive  myself,  or  my  creation  is  a  genuine 
poet ;  that  is  to  say,  a  child  incapable  of  working  out  his 
own  destiny.  His  pleasure  or  pain,  his  success  or  his 
wretchedness,  depend  upon  circumstances,  not  upon 
his  own  will.  He  sings  the  air  which  Nature  taught  him, 
as  the  nightingale  does  ;  but,  when  you  try  to  make  him 
sing  like  a  blackbird,  he  is  silent,  or  he  dies.  Greater 
souls  than  Gilbert  or  Chatterton  have  never  been  appre- 
ciated until  after  their  death.  When  poets  are  flung 
into  the  midst  of  a  distraught  or  heedless  world,  they 
must  either  get  out  of  it,  or  become  clerks  or  soldiers, 
according  as  the  time  is  one  of  peace  or  war.  But  their 
contemporaries  must  answer  to  posterity  for  their  loss. 
There  have  been  blunders  enough  made  in  that  line  to 
justify  the  addition  to  the  list  of  one  imaginary  woe. 
Moreover,  in  this  romance,  I  do  not  accuse  society,  as  I 
might  if  I  were  treating  of  a  historical  character,  and  as 
Alfred  de  Vigny  very  properly  did  in  '  Stello.'  The 
very  title  must  show  that  I  do  not  intend  to  enter  an 
action  against  any  one  ;  and  this  is  why  I  am  still  delib- 
erating whether  I  had  better  call  the  work  the  '  Stone 
of  Sisyphus '  or  the  *  Lost  Poet.'  " 

I  besought  my  brother  to  choose  the  first  title ;  repre- 
senting the  delight  the  envious  would  take  in  saying 
that  the  work  was  a  new  "  Confession  of  a  Child  of  the 
Age."  Alfred  threw  up  his  head  haughtily,  and  replied, 
"  They  would  not  dare ! "  But  the  observation  had 
struck  him.  He  began  to  look  up  the  numbers  of  the 
"  Revue,"  to  discover  the  date  of  his  last  contribution ; 
and  was  frightened  to  perceive  that,  since  the  fifteenth  of 
February,  he  had  worked  only  for  himself.     Instead  of 


196  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

reserving  for  his  romance  the  fine  verses  which  he  had 
just  written,  he  sent  them  to  the  manager  of  the  "  Re- 
vue." This  took  place  in  the  last  days  of  September. 
The  "  Idylle  "  appeared  on  the  first  of  October,  and  that 
night  the  poet  slept  serenely. 

We  had  just  heard  a  piece  of  news  highly  important 
to  the  dilettanti,  —  the  engagement  of  Pauline  Garcia  at 
the  Theatre  Italien.  The  management  of  this  theatre 
had  been  intrusted  to  M.  Viardot ;  and,  in  consequence 
of  the  burning  of  Favart's  Hall,  the  first  performance 
was  to  take  place  at  the  Odeon.  Pauline  Garcia  made 
her  debut  in  "  Othello,"  and  her  friends  were  all  at  their 
posts  ;  but,  before  the  close  of  the  second  act,  Malibran's 
younger  sister  might  have  counted  on  the  entire  audi- 
ence as  her  friends.  Alfred  de  Musset  wanted  to  have 
his  say  about  this  performance  ;  and  I  would  recommend 
to  curious  readers  his  analysis  of  the  genius  of  Pauline 
Garcia,  written  in  1839.'  There  are  niceties  of  detail 
about  it,  which  would  apply  perfectly  to  the  interpreta- 
tion of  Gluck's  masterpieces  in  1861. 

The  differences  between  Malibran's  Desdemona  and 
Pauline  Garcia's  were  noted  with  rare  acumen.  It 
was  not  because  custom  prescribes  a  stint  of  praise  in 
such  cases,  that  the  author  allowed  himself  to  offer  the 
young  debutante  some  advice  ;  but  because  the  advice 
was  good  and  needed. 

"  The  moment,"  he  said,  "  in  which  she  falls  on  the 
floor,  when  repulsed  by  Othello,  is  a  painful  one  to  some 
persons.  Why  need  she  fall  ?  There  used  to  be  an 
easy-chair  at  hand,  and  the  libretto  says  merely  that 
Desdemona  faints.     I  do  not  lay  any  very  great  stress 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  197 

on  this  point ;  but  these  striking  effects,  these  sudden 
sensational  turns,  are  so  much  in  fashion  nowadays, 
that  I  think  we  ought  to  be  cautious  about  them.  Mali- 
bran  made  frequent  use  of  them  it  is  true.  She  fell, 
and  always  did  it  well ;  but  now  the  boulevard  actresses 
have  also  learned  how  to  fall,  and  Mile.  Garcia  appears 
to  me  better  fitted  than  any  one  else  to  demonstrate 
that,  if  one  can  succeed  without  such  means,  one  ought 
to  avoid  them." 

Where  did  Alfred  de  Musset  learn  that  there  "  used  to 
be  an  easy-chair  at  hand  "  ?  I  do  not  know ;  but  he  was 
right,  for  I  find  among  his  papers  a  letter  from  Mme. 
Garcia,  dated  Nov.  2  (his  article  came  out  on  the  first), 
in  which  the  widow  of  the  great  Garcia  expresses  her- 
self thus :  — 

"The  article  is  charming;  the  criticism  excellent.  We 
shall  try  to  profit  by  its  good  suggestions  ;  and,  first  of  all,  we 
will  have  the  arm-chair  at  the  next  performance,  although 
Emilia  says,  '  Al  suol  giacente  ; '  that  is,  lying  on  the  ground 
or  the  floor.  But  no  matter.  My  poor  husband  used  to  enter, 
absorbed  in  jealous  and  heart-rending  reflections.  He  flung 
himself  into  a  chair  of  some  sort  —  whatever  they  had  in  those 
days  —  and  when  he  rose,  he  turned  it,  without  appearing  to  do 
so,  in  such  a  manner,  that  Pasta  might  drop  into  it  naturally. 
But  enough  for  the  present." 

Always  afterwards.  Mile.  Garcia  fainted  in  the  arm- 
chair, and  left  to  other  Desdemonas,  who  felt  much  less 
keenly  than  she,  exaggerated  movements  and  carefully 
studied  falls.  If  the  article  in  the  "  Revue  "  had  done 
no  more  than  this,  it  would  have  been  something :  but  in 
the  closing  paragraph  the  author  gave  both  the  young 
actress  and  the  French  public  some  advice  which  they 


198  Biograplty  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

would  have  done  well  to  heed ;  and  which,  though  ori- 
ginally put  in  the  form  of  a  wish,  has  since  assumed  the 
character  of  a  prophecy :  — 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  Pauline  Garcia  ?  There  is  no 
more  doubt  about  her  future.  Her  success  is  established, 
proved.  All  she  can  do  now  is  to  mount  higher.  But  what 
will  she  do  ?  Shall  we  keep  her  with  us,  or  will  she,  like  her 
sister,  appear  in  Germany,  England,  and  Italy  ?  Shall  she 
roam  the  world  for  the  sake  of  a  few  handfuls  of  louis,  more 
or  less  ?  Shall  we  award  her  fame,  or  will  she  seek  it  else- 
where ?  What  is  a  reputation,  after  all?  Who  makes  it? 
What  determines  it  ?  This  is  what  I  asked  myself  the  other 
evening,  as  I  left  the  Oddon  after  witnessing  that  triumph, 
after  I  had  seen  so  many  tearful  eyes  and  agitated  faces  in 
the  hall.  I  beg  pardon  of  the  pit  which  clapped  so  bravely. 
My  question  is  not  addressed  to  that.  I  ask  your  pardon,  too, 
fair  ladies  in  the  proscenium,  who  dream  so  fondly  of  the 
airs  you  love,  and  tap  your  gloves  sometimes  ;  and  who,  when 
your  hearts  thrill  to  the  accents  of  genius  fling  lavishly  your 
fragrant  bouquets  !  Nor  was  I  thinking  so  much  of  you,  O 
subtile  connoisseurs,  fine  folk  who  know  every  thing,  and  are 
consequently  amused  by  nothing  !  I  was  thinking  rather  of 
the  student  and  the  artist,  of  the  man  who,  as  they  say,  has 
only  a  heart  and  but  little  ready  money  ;  who  comes  here 
once  of  a  Sunday,  for  an  extraordinary  treat ;  the  man  for 
whom  the  mere  exercise  of  his  intellect  is  a  sdmulating  and 
salutary  pleasure  ;  the  man  who  needs  to  see  something  noble 
and  fine  and  to  weep  over  it,  that  he  may  work  gaily  on  the 
morrow,  and  have  courage  to  come  again  ;  the  man  in  short 
who  loved  the  elder  sister,  and  knows  the  worth  of  truth."  ^ 

How  much  there  is  in  these  few  words  !  Was  it  the 
fault  of  the  pit,  or  of  the  fair  ladies,  or  of  the  languid 
connoisseurs }    Was  it  the  fault  of  the  young  singer  her- 

'  Debuts  de  Mademoiselle  Pauline  Garcia.  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes, 
Nov.  I,  1839. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  199 

self?  Which  one  of  all  these  failed  to  do  his  duty,  or 
comprehend  his  true  interests?  However  it  came  about, 
Pauline  Garcia  went  to  Russia,  and  was  almost  entirely 
forgotten  ;  and  for  the  fifteen  ensuing  years  we  saw  other 
Desdemonas  correctly  flinging  themselves  upon  the  floor, 
and  the  Theatre  Italien  descending  by  degrees  to  what 
it  is  to-day.  Not  until  twenty  years  had  elapsed  — 
twenty  years  of  shrieks  and  simperings  and  bad  taste, 
in  short  of  radical  and  complete  decadence  —  did  pure 
art,  and  simple  song,  and  dramatic  music  revive  one 
fine  evening,  in  a  remote  corner  of  Paris,  at  the  Theatre 
Lyrique.  Malibran's  sister  had  reappeared  in  the 
"  Orpheus  "  of  Gliick. 

While  the  admirers  of  Pauline  Garcia  were  reading 
the  article  on  her  Othello,  Alfred  was  writing,  with  all 
his  wonted  facility,  the  pretty  rhymed  tale  of  "  Sylvia." 
When  the  "  Idylle  "  appeared,  the  godmother  made  haste 
to  tell  her  son  what  she  thought  of  the  piece.  Her  letter 
wound  up  with  a  friendly  reproof,  touching  the  long 
silence  of  his  Muse.  "  Idleness,"  she  said,  "  is  lack  of 
courage."  Her  g^odson  responded  gaily  and  triumph- 
antly to  her  strictures,  in  verses  which  were  also  given 
to  the  public. 

I  knew  nothing  of  all  this  when  in  the  "  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes"  for  December  15,  I  read,  on  a  detached 
leaf  of  blue  paper,  a  list  of  forthcoming  contributions, 
among  which  Alfred  de  Musset's  prose  work  was  an- 
nounced, under  the  objectionable  title  of  the  "  Poete 
Ddchu."  I  could  not  suppress  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
which  my  brother  observed.  He  merely  pointed  with 
his  finger  toward  the  MS.  of  the  tale  imitated  from 


200  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Boccaccio,  more  than  two  hundred  verses  of  which  were 
already  written.  "  Look,"  said  he,  "  that  little  poem  is 
but  half  done  yet :  in  three  days  I  shall  have  finished  it. 
What  farther  proof  do  you  require  of  the  vigor  of  my 
brain  ?  One  would  never  attempt  any  thing  so  bold  if 
one  thought  about  envious  and  ill-natured  people." 

I  replied  that  I  was  perhaps  too  cautious,  and  that  I 
would  defer  my  opinion  to  that  of  Tattet,  or  the  god- 
mother. Tattet  came  so  often  that  I  did  not  have  long 
to  wait  for  him.  My  brother  read  him  the  story  of  the 
lost,  poet,  and  he  interrupted  him  again  and  again  with 
admiring  exclamations.     I  even  saw  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Nothing  more  eloquent  has  been  written,"  he  said, 
"  since  the  days  of  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau." 

When  the  reading  was  finished,  I  left  him  alone  with 
his  friend,  and  my  brother  informed  him  of  my  objec- 
tions. Tattet  did  not  think  them  well  founded ;  but  the 
next  day  Alfred  told  me  that  he  had  burned  several 
pages  of  the  romance,  which  was  not  at  all  what  I 
wanted.  He  put  the  rest  away  in  a  box,  and  said  that 
the  prose  contained  some  ideas  which  would  be  good  to 
put  into  verse.  The  poem  of  "  Sylvia,"  which  appeared 
on  the  first  of  January,  1840,  caused  the  readers  of  the 
"  Revue "  to  forget  the  promise  of  the  previous  num- 
ber. A  long  while  afterward  other  portions  of  the 
MS.  were  burned,  and  my  brother  charged  me  to  de- 
stroy whatever  remnants  of  the  work  he  might  leave  be- 
hind him,  with  the  exception  of  the  passages  quoted 
above,  for  which  I  earnestly  interceded.  Twenty  odd^ 
pages  of  writing  are  all  that  remain  of  that  precious 
document.      They  are  admirable.      I  have  read  them 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  201 

with  deep  emotion ;  and,  if  I  might  give  them  to  the 
public,  I  would  not  hesitate ;  convinced  that  they  would 
reflect  no  less  honor  on  the  character  of  the  man  than 
on  the  gifts  of  the  writer.  But,  fine  as  they  are,  I  have 
promised ;  and  they  must  be  destroyed. 


202  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 


XIII. 

WE  must  not  smile  at  the  sufferings  of  the  poet. 
He  alone  can  give  his  plaints  audible  expres- 
sion ;  but  ffow  many  there  are  who  suffer  like  him,  yet 
cannot  make  it  known !  How  many  young  souls,  forcibly 
turned  aside  from  their  true  vocation,  have  shed  by  night 
just  such  bitter  tears  as  the  strains  of  "  Dante  "  wrung 
from  the  author  of  the  "  Poete  Dechu ! "  How  many 
are  made  unhappy  by  the  very  fact  that  Nature  has  en- 
dowed them  with  more  intellect  than  belongs  to  the 
vulgar  !  The  latter  may  envy  the  poet  his  pangs,  his 
heart-sickness,  and  his  fame ;  but  it  is  none  the  less 
certain  that  genius  is  a  fatal  gift,  unless  it  have  the 
safeguard  of  enormous  vanity.  Alfred  de  Musset  had 
not  received  from  Heaven  that  infallible  defence  against 
the  sorrows  of  the  heart  and  mind ;  and  the  incidents 
related  in  the  last  chapter  show  how  unhappy  he  was. 
His  refusal  to  publish  a  work  which  had  been  an- 
nounced by  the  "  Revue  "  complicated  the  situation  yet 
more ;  nevertheless,  neither  the  engagements  which  he 
had  made,  nor  my  own  exhortations  to  diligence,  availed 
to  induce  him  to  return  to  prose,  for  which  the  magazine 
story  had  given  him  an  invincible  repugnance.  "  In 
verse,"  he  said,  "  a  poet  may  permit  himself  to  offer  to 
the  public  the  truthful  expression  of  his  feelings ;  but, 
in  the  language  employed  by  anybody  and  everybody, 
he  may  not !  " 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  203 

The  prose  manuscript  which  contained  this  honest 
expression  of  his  mind  was  thrown  into  a  corner ;  but 
the  author  could  not  dispose  of  his  anxieties  after  the 
same  fashion.  A  review  is  a  kind  of  Minotaur.  Of 
the  two  hundred  verses  of  "  Sylvia,"  the  number  for 
January  i,  1840,  made  but  one  mouthful,  and  three  times 
a  week  came  M.  Felix  Bonnaire  to  chat  at  our  fireside. 
These  friendly  visits  were  assuredly  those  of  a  most 
patient  and  inoffensive  creditor ;  nevertheless,  he  was  a 
creditor  with  a  mortgage  on  one's  thoughts  and  feelings 
and  tears.  It  was  in  such  terms  that  Alfred  invariably 
described  all  contracts  for  future  work.  I  must  confess 
that  I  thought  him  extravagant  and  unreasonable.  Like 
the  manager  of  the  "  Revue,"  like  Alfred  Tattet  and 
the  godmamma,  I  occasionally  stigmatized  his  disdain- 
ful silence  as  laziness  or  weakness.  But  we  were  all 
wrong.     We  had  not  the  poet's  second  sight. 

Alfred  was  always  in  love  as  a  matter  of  necessity. 
When  I  omit  to  mention  the  fact,  it  may  be  understood. 
His  twofold  admiration  for  Pauline  Garcia  and  Rachel 
passed  from  his  intellect  into  his  heart,  every  time  he 
came  out  from  hearing  a  performance  by  either  one. 
This  was  the  time  when  he  should  have  written  the  story 
of  Valentin's  double  passion  for  the  Marquise  and 
Mme.  Delaunay.  The  narrative  would  then  have  con- 
tained much  curious  analysis  of  emotion  ;  but,  as  it  was, 
the  novel  was  written  three  years  too  early.  The  ideal 
situation,  might  have  been  made  much  finer,  because 
the  hero  would  have  been  only  an  amoureux,  not  an 
amant. 

The  agreeable  period  of  this  double  attraction  came 


204  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

to  an  end  in  the  winter  of  1840.  I  perceived  that  the 
poet,  preoccupied  with  his  engagements,  worn  out  with 
exhortations  to  industry,  and  a  trifle  disenchanted,  no 
longer  wanted  to  confide  his  griefs  to  anybody.  At  the 
gay  parties  to  which  his  friends  invited  him,  he  still  en- 
joyed the  sprightliness  of  others,  but  the  animation  of 
Fantasio  had  deserted  him.  His  depression  betrayed 
itself  in  all  he  said,  and  made  itself  felt  even  at  our 
family  meals.  One  evening  after  we  had  messed  at  a 
restaurant  with  Tattet  and  several  other  friends,  —  we 
had  had  a  good  dinner  and  drunk  more  than  was  need- 
ful, —  the  feasters  left  the  table,  bent  upon  further 
amusement ;  but  when  they  came  to  look  for  Alfred  he 
was  not  to  be  found.  He  had  escaped,  and  had  been 
for  some  hours  in  my  room.  I  asked  him  how  he  had 
employed  his  evening.  "  I  have  been  doing  my  best," 
he  replied,  "to  enjoy  myself  as  other  people  do,  and  I 
have  only  succeeded  in  stultifying  myself.  The  truth  is 
I  am  no  longer  capable  of  enjoyment." 

I  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  that ;  and  the  reply 
which  he  gave  struck  me  as  so  singular  that  I  requested 
him  to  write  down  the  substance  of  it.  It  was  a  piece 
of  advice  which  I  often  gave  him,  and  which,  unhappily, 
he  very  seldom  heeded  :  but  this  time  he  probably  put 
his  thoughts  upon  paper  before  going  to  bed  ;  for  there 
is  certainly  a  reminiscence  of  the  conversation  I  have  re- 
ported in  the  following  lines,  which  I  found  among  his 
papers :  — 

"  Pleasure  is  the  exercise  of  our  faculties.  Happiness  is 
their  exaltation.  It  is  thus  that,  from  the  beast  to  the  child 
of  genius,  the  whole  vast  creation  underneath  the  sun  silently 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  205 

accomplishes  its  eternal  task.  And  thus,  at  the  close  of 
a  feast,  some,  heated  with  wine,  seize  cards  and  fling  them- 
selves upon  heaps  of  gold  under  the  glare  of  lamps  ;  some 
call  for  horses  and  ride  forth  into  the  forest;  the  poet  arises 
with  eyes  aglow,  and  draws  his  bolt  behind  him  ;  while  one 
young  man  speeds  noiselessly  away  to  the  home  of  his  mis- 
tress. Who  shall  say  which  of  all  these  is  the  happiest  ? 
But  he  who  stirs  not  from  his  place,  and  has  no  part  in  the 
whirl  about  him,  he  is  the  least  of  men,  or  else  he  is  the 
most  unhappy. 

"So  goes  the  world.  Among  tavern-rovers,  some  are 
rosy  and  merry ;  some  pale  and  taciturn.  Can  there  be 
a  more  painful  spectacle  than  that  of  an  unhappy  libertine  ? 
I  have  seen  some  whose  smile  would  make  one  shudder. 
He  who  would  subjugate  his  soul  with  the  weapons  of  sense 
may  intoxicate  himself  indefinitely.  He  may  affect  an  impas- 
sive exterior  ;  he  may  repress  his  thoughts  by  the  might  of  a 
steadfast  will :  those  thoughts  will  roar  incessantly  inside  the 
brazen  bull." 

The  melancholy  which  inspired  such  reflections  was 
not  easily  surmounted.  When  one  has  lost  the  faculty 
of  enjoyment,  in  the  poet's  sense  of  the  term,  dissipations 
are  of  no  use.  During  the  carnival,  Alfred  conscien- 
tiously compelled  himself  once  or  twice  to  join  the  hila- 
rious bands  ;  but  he  brought  back  from  these  excursions 
nothing  but  fatigue  and  a  fresh  access  of  despondency. 

One  day  he  resolved  to  begin  again,  although  he  felt 
no  inclination  to  do  so.  "  I  am  going,"  he  said,  "  to  imi- 
tate the  late  Marshal  Turenne.  My  body  refuses  to  go 
into  battle  ;  but  my  will  shall  take  it  there  in  spite  of 
itself." 

This  time  Nature  rebelled,  and  he  came  home  with  in- 
flammation of  the  lungs.  M.  Chomel,  although  one  of  the 
most  skilful  physicians  in  Paris,  did  not  form  a  correct 


2o6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mnsset. 

opinion  of  the  disorder ;  but  took  it,  at  first,  for  a  brain 
fever.  If  we  had  followed  his  first  prescriptions,  the 
mistake  might  have  cost  us  dear.  Fortunately,  a  mother's 
instinct,  clearer-sighted  than  science,  divined  the  error 
and  repaired  it. 

It  required  no  less  than  three  persons,  assisted  by  a 
sister  of  charity,  to  nurse  a  patient  so  insubordinate  and 
full  of  strength.  Ten  days  of  sleeplessness  and  exces- 
sive blood-letting  seemed  only  to  exasperate  him.  In 
one  of  his  rebellious  moments,  when  we  were  at  our  wits' 
end,  the  godmother  arrived.  She  found  her  boy  sitting 
up  in  bed  in  a  transport  of  rage,  and  calling  loudly  for  his 
clothes,  that  he  might  go  to  the  baker's,  he  said,  and  get 
some  bread,  because  they  would  not  give  him  any  at 
home.  At  first  he  would  not  listen  ;  but,  by  degrees,  the 
persuasions  of  his  godmother  quieted  him.  At  last 
she  peremptorily  ordered  him  to  lie  down,  and  he  obeyed  ; 
muttering  still,  but  remaining  motionless  under  the  touch 
of  her  little  hand  which  hardly  covered  half  his  forehead. 
Princess  Belgiojoso,  who  never  missed  the  opportunity 
to  do  a  kindness,  came  also  several  times  and  sat  by  the 
sick  man's  pillow,  and  offered  him  drink  which  he  dared 
not  refuse  from  the  hand  of  so  great  a  lady.  One  day, 
when  he  was  very  sick  indeed,  the  princess  said  to  him 
with  perfect  composure  :  "  Be  calm.  People  never  die 
in  my  presence."  He  pretended  out  of  gratitude  to  be- 
lieve her ;  but,  when  she  promised  to  come  and  see  him 
again,  he  said  quite  seriously,  "  I  shall  not  die  on  that 
day." 

When  his  disease  was  abating,  I  observed  a  strange 
phenomenon.     One  morning,  Sister   Marcelline  and  I 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  207 

were  sitting  by  my  brotiier's  bedside.  He  appeared 
calm  and  somewhat  exhausted.  Reason  was  still  con- 
tending with  the  delirium  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  sleep 
and  the  remains  of  pulmonary  congestion.  Visions  were 
flitting  before  his  eyes  ;  but  he  took  note  of  all  his  sen- 
sations, and  questioned  me  to  enable  himself  to  distin- 
guish real  from  imaginary  objects.  Guided  by  my  replies, 
he  analyzed  his  delirium,  observed  it  curiously,  amused 
himself  with  it  as  with  a  spectacle,  and  described  to  me 
the  images  which  were  generated  in  his  brain.  By  and 
by,  complete  pictures  were  composed,  and  one  of  these 
dissolving  views  remained  fixed  in  both  our  memories. 
,  It  was  then  March.  The  sunshine  fell  upon  the 
writing-table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  which,  for  the 
time  being,  was  covered  with  phials.  In  spite  of  its 
being  thus  encumbered,  the  invalid  seemed  to  see  the 
table  just  as  he  had  left  it  the  day  he  took  his  bed,  — 
that  is  to  say,  strewn  with  books  and  papers  with  a 
writing-desk  upon  it,  and  pens  methodically  arranged. 
Presently  four  little  winged  genii  snatched  up  the  books, 
the  papers,  and  the  desk ;  and,  when  they  had  cleared  the 
table,  they  brought  on  the  phials  and  medicines  in  the 
same  order  in  which  they  had  come  from  the  apothecary's. 
On  the  arrival  of  the  famous  Venetian  potion,  which  M. 
Chomel  had  allowed  to  be  tried,  the  patient  saluted  it 
with  his  hand  in  the  Italian  fashion,  and  murmured: 
"Pagello  has  saved  me  once  "more."  The  other  medi- 
cines took  their  actual  places  ;  and,  for  a  brief  moment, 
the  dream  and  the  reality  were  identical.  Then,  from 
among  the  army  of  phials,  arose  a  champagne-bottle 
adorned  with  its  metal  stamp.    It  was  borne  pathetically 


2o8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

upon  a  litter  by  two  small  genii,  who  assumed  for  the 
occasion  a  subdued  and  sorrowful  attitude.  The  con- 
voy moved  off  by  an  ascending  path  which  wound  away 
into  the  distance  ;  while  by  another  path  a  decanter 
descended  wreathed  with  roses,  and  surmounted  by  its 
crystal  stopper.  The  decanter  glided  smoothly  down 
the  sloping  pathway,  while  the  genii  scattered  flowers 
before  it,  and  the  phials  drew  themselves  up  in  a  double 
line  to  receive  it,  and  gave  it  the  place  of  honor. 

After  this  impressive  entrance,  the  decanter  laid  aside 
its  wreath,  and  installed  itself  modestly  upon  the  mantel. 
The  genii  removed  the  traces  of  the  ceremony,  took  away 
the  now  useless  phials,  and  restored  things  to  their  pris- 
tine state  j  so  that  the  recovered  poet  might  find  his 
table  in  order  for  work.  Each  volume  and  every  scrap 
of  paper  resumed  the  place  which  it  had  occupied  the 
night  before  he  was  taken  ill,  and  the  pens  arranged 
themselves  symmetrically  before  the  desk.  Their  duty 
discharged,  the  genii  departed ;  but  the  poet,  after  in- 
specting his  table,  exclaimed,  "  That  is  not  quite  right ! 
There  was  a  little  dust  in  spots,  particularly  upon  that 
lacquered  writing-desk." 

The  instant  that  he  made  this  reasonable  complaint, 
he  perceived  a  little  man  about  three  inches  high  with  a 
perambulating  cocoa-seller' s  urn  upon  his  back.  The 
Liliputian  traversed  the  desk  and  books,  turning  the 
faucet  of  his  urn,  whence  issued  a  fine  dust,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  the  desired  order  reigned  on  the  table.  "That 
is  perfect,"  said  the  master,  drawing  the  coverlid  over 
his  eyes.  "  Now  I  can  sleep,  and  I  believe  that  I  am 
cured." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  209 

And  so  he  was ;  for,  when  next  he  woke,  his  brain  had 
recovered  the  clearness  and  tranquillity  of  its  normal 
condition.  He  told  these  particulars  to  the  physician 
himself,  and  M.  Chomel  replied  with  a  smile,  "  You 
have  had  a  regular  poetical  pneumonia.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  would  never  be  like  the  rest  of  the 
world,  whether  sick  or  well.  But  try  to  profit  by  the 
advice  which  you  have  given  yourself.  The  apotheosis 
of  the  decanter  will  not  suffice.  You  must  also  remem- 
ber that  nature  designed  the  day  for  waking,  and  the 
night  for  sleep." 

"  Your  aphorism,"  Alfred  replied,  "  is  not  so  profound 
as  that  of  Hippocrates ;  but  I  promise  you  that  I  will 
ponder  it." 

The  word  convalescence  does  not  begin  to  express  the 
curious  state  of  beatitude  in  which  the  poet  found  him- 
self during  his  recovery  from  this  illness.  It  was  a 
veritable  new  birth.  He  felt  about  seventeen,  and  en- 
joyed the  "  pleasures  of  childhood  and  the  notions  of  a 
page,"  like  the  cherub  in  the  "  Marriage  of  Figaro."  All 
the  difficulties,  all  the  causes  of  despondency,  which  had 
preceded  his  illness,  had  vanished,  and  his  horizon  was 
rose-color.  In  the  evening,  the  family  used  to  assemble 
around  the  famous  writing-table,  to  chat  or  sketch,  while 
Sister  Marcelline  knitted  little  jugs  out  of  variegated 
wool.  Auguste  Barre,  who  lived  near  us,  used  to  come 
to  work  upon  an  album  of  caricatures  in  the  style  of 
Toppfer's,  representing  the  series  of  events  and  catas- 
trophes attendant  upon  a  marriage  treaty  repeatedly 
broken  off  and  renewed.  All  Paris  was  laughing  at  it, 
and  one  did  not  need  to  be  a  convalescent  to  find  amuse- 

14 


210  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

ment  in  these  comical  drawings.  Alfred  and  Barre 
wielded  the  pencil,  and  the  rest  of  us  made  up  the  ex- 
planatory text,  which  was  no  less  absurd  than  the  draw- 
ings. The  album  consisted  of  fifty-one  sketches,  more 
than  half  of  which  were  from  Alfred's  hand.  It  was 
not  without  a  pang  of  jealous  regret  that  I  saw  the  prod- 
igal godson  bestow  on  his  godmamma  these  nonsensical 
productions,  which,  if  I  had  them  now,  would  recall  one 
of  the  sweetest  periods  of  our  home  life.  Who  shall 
give  us  back  those  delightful  evenings  of  laughter, 
chatter,  and  jest ;  when,  without  stirring  abroad  and 
with  no  help  from  outside,  our  household  was  so  happy?. 
The  convalescent's  first  sorrow  came  with  the  farewell 
of  Sister  Marcelline.  Not  only  had  the  angelic  sweet- 
ness and  devoted  xare  of  that  saintly  girl  attached  us 
all  to  her ;  but,  quite  unconsciously,  she  had  acquired  a 
marked  ascendancy  over  the  mind  of  the  invalid,  by  the 
spectacle  of  the  serenity  of  spirit  which  she  brought  to 
the  discharge  of  her  duties,  and  by  describing  to  him, 
with  affecting  simplicity,  some  of  the  events  of  her  life ; 
especially  those  which  had  induced  her  to  take  the  veil. 
In  her  eagerness  to  second  the  physician's  efforts,  she 
advised  the  patient  about  the  course  he  ought  to  pur- 
sue ;  first,  for  the  health  of  his  body,  and  then  for  that 
of  his  mind.  How  could  he  forbid  one  so  pious  and  so 
affectionate  to  interest  herself  in  the  religious  experi- 
ence of  him  whose  life  she  had  saved  by  her  devotion  ? 
Marcelline  used  her  privilege  discreetly,  and  her  gentle 
entreaties  had  more  effect  than  those  of  a  doctor  of 
divinity  could  have  had.  He  assured  her  that  it  was 
so,  and  she  left  him  well  content, — with  the  promise 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  211 

that  she  would  pray  for  him.  Always  afterwards,  when 
he  wanted  help,  Alfred  asked  for  Sister  Marcelline ;  but, 
whether  by  accident  or  intentionally,  she  was  never  sent 
to  him  but  once.  Occasionally,  at  intervals  of  several 
years,  she  got  leave  to  come  out  and  ascertain  the  con- 
dition of  her  patient.  She  would  talk  with  him  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  so  and  then  flit  away.  They  were 
angel  visits,  —  unhappily  too  rare  ;  but  they  always  came 
so  opportunely  that  Alfred  regarded  them  as  marks  of 
the  favor  of  some  mysterious  and  consolatory  power. 

According  to  the  customary  working  of  his  mind,  the 
poet,  when  bereft  of  the  sister  whom  he  regretted,  began 
to  concentrate  all  his  thoughts  upon  her,  until  his 
thoughts  became  words,  and  his  words  took  the  form  of 
verse.  One  day  he  told  me  that  he  had  composed  some 
stanzas,  "To  Sister  Marcelline,"  but  he  obstinately 
refused  to  write  them  out,  "These  verses,"  he  said, 
"  were  made  for  myself  alone.  They  concern  only  me, 
and  no  one  else  has  a  right  to  them.  Why  should  I  not 
compose  a  dozen  stanzas  for  my  private  use,  and  recite 
them  to  myself  if  I  choose.  I  will  repeat  them  to  you 
once,  and  you  may  remember  them  if  you  can." 

Accordingly,  he  did  so.  Tattet  heard  them  also,  and 
besought  his  friend  for  a  copy,  but  in  vain.  Afterwards, 
another  lady,  whose  care  had  been  no  less  assiduous 
than  Sister  Marcelline's  own,  repeated  from  memory  a 
few  of  these  verses.  By  comparing  our  recollections, 
we  succeeded  with  great  difficulty  in  reconstructing  four 
stanzas ;  but  their  order  is  by  no  means  certain.  When  I 
owned  this  misdemeanor  to  my  brother,  he  was  not  at  all 
angry ;  and,  since  he  demanded  no  promise  of  secrecy,  I 


212  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

do  not  see  why  I  should  consign  to  eternal  oblivion  one 
of  the  purest  inspirations  of  his  vanished  Muse.  Here 
is  all  I  have  been  able  to  recover  of  the  stanzas  to  Sister 
Marcelline :  — 

"  Poor  child,  thy  beauty  is  all  fled  ! 
Thy  nightly  vigils  by  the  dead 

Have  left  thee  pale  as  they. 
As  any  delver's  of  the  soil, 
Thy  hand  is  hard  with  loving  toil, 

Men's  anguish  to  allay. 

Yet  brave  amid  its  weariness 
Beside  the  pillow  of  distress, 

Thy  white  brow  shineth  ;  and 
Full  well  the  wretch  whose  fevered  grasp 
Enfolds  it,  knows  how  kind  the  clasp 

Of  that  disfigured  hand. 


Pursue  thy  solitary  way. 

And  step  by  step,  and  day  by  day, 

Draw  nearer  to  thy  God. 
While  we  bemoan  life's  cruel  ill 
Who  meanly  use  our  coward  skill 

To  fly  the  chastening  rod. 

But  naught  of  evil  dost  thou  know, 
And  nameless  unto  thee  the  foe 

With  whom  thou  strivest  still. 
The  strokes  thereof  cannot  harm  one 
Who  hath  forgotten  how  to  moan. 

Save  for  another's  ill."  ^ 

'  There  is  an  allusion  to  the  tender  memory  left  by  the  care  of  Sister 
Marcelline  in  a  letter  of  Alfred  de  Musset's  to  his  godmother,  dated  July 
31,  1840.  In  reply  to  a  previous  letter  in  which  the  poet  had  alluded  jok- 
ingly to  his  flirtations  with  several  young  women,  his  godmother  had  asked 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  213 

Apparently,  Sister  Marcelline  must  have  obtained  from 
the  invalid  a  promise  to  engage  in  some  religious  exer- 
cise ;  for,  when  she  went  away,  she  left  him  a  pen  on 
which  she  had  embroidered,  in  parti-colored  silk,  the 
motto,  "Think  of  your  promise."  Seventeen  years 
later,  this  pen  and  one  of  the  little  knitted  jugs  were 
enclosed  in  the  poet's  coffin.  It  was  one  of  his  last 
requests. 

After  his  recovery,  Alfred  conceived  the  desire  of 
writing  for  Rachel  a  tragedy  of  Alcestis.  He  pur- 
chased the  drama  of  Euripides,  and  applied  himself 
to  his  Greek,  so  as  to  read  it  in  the  original.  His  friend 
Tattet  ransacked  the  libraries,  both  public  and  private, 
in  search  of  the  sketch  of  a  tragedy  upon  this  theme, 
which  some  of  the  biographers  of  Racine  had  declared  to 
exist  among  his  papers.  In  his  review  of  the  "  Alcestis  " 
of  Gliick,  J.  J.  Rousseau  had  made  some  very  judicious 
criticism  of  the  faults  in  the  libretto  of  the  Bailli  du 
Rollet.  These  faults  were  a  lack  of  variety  in  the 
situations,  and  a  consequent  monotony  of  language,  so 
difficult  to  avoid  that  the  Greek  poet  himself  had  fallen 
into  it.    Alfred  was  not  discouraged,  but  accepted  these 

him  what  had  become  of  his  feeling  for  the  sister  in  the  midst  of  these  love 
affairs.  This  is  evidently  her  meaning  in  her  remark  about  the  "sacred 
story."  We  must  not  misinterpret  the  apparent  levity  with  which  the  god- 
son replies  to  this  question.  I  think  he  was  unwilling  to  have  so  serious  a 
subject  mixed  up  with  the  badinage  by  which  he  was  trying  to  divert  the 
mind  of  a  lady  whom  he  suspected  of  a  slightly  malicious  feeling,  not  to- 
ward himself,  but  toward  one  whom  he  deeply  reverenced.  It  was  in  a 
very  different  tone  that  he  spoke  of  Sister  Marcelline  to  the  Duchesse  de 
Castries,  as  may  be  seen  by  a  letter  to  his  brother,  dated  June,  1840.  When 
he  told  the  godmother  that  the  "  sacred  story  "  was  somewhat  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  Old  Testament,  it  was  probably  his  way  of  refusing  to  an- 
swer her  at  all.  —  P.  M. 


214  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel. 

criticisms  as  useful  warnings.     We  shall  see  presently 
why  this  project  was  abandoned. 

Unwilling  to  recall  his  thoughts  to  painful  themes,  I 
was  careful,  during  his  convalescence,  not  to  allude  to 
the  things  which  had  disturbed  him  before  he  was  ill. 
M.  Felix  Bonnaire,  in  his  morning  calls,  never  breathed 
a  word  about  work  or  engagements.  Whether  it  were 
heedlessness  or  presentiment  I  cannot  say ;  but  Alfred 
made  the  remark  now  and  then,  that  every  thing  arranged 
itself  in  this  world,  and  that  his  affairs  would  do  the 
same.  Sister  Marcelline  had  predicted  it,  and  so  it 
would  be  j  and,  in  point  of  fact,  the  poet's  embarrass- 
ments were  about  to  receive  a  most  unlooked-for 
solution.  M.  Charpentier  had  just  effected  a  revolu- 
tion in  the  book-trade.  His  i8mo  editions  brought 
within  the  reach  of  people  of  moderate  means  books 
which  even  the  rich  had  previously  found  too  dear.  In  the 
two  preceding  years,  M.  Charpentier  had  brought  out  a 
large  number  of  books,  and  M.  Buloz  now  suggested  to 
him  the  idea  of  publishing  the  works  of  Alfred  de  Musset 
in  the  new  form.  To  further  the  success  of  the  scheme, 
M.  Buloz  consented  to  sacrifice  a  certain  number  of 
copies  of  his  own  8vo  edition  of  the  "  Spectacle  dans  un 
Fauteuil,"  which  still  remained  in  the  book-shop  of  the 
"  Revue."  One  morning,  therefore,  M.  Charpentier  came 
and  proposed  to  the  author  of  the  "  Contes  d'Espagne  " 
to  collect  all  his  poems  in  one  volume  of  the  new  form. 
This  proposal  quite  altered  the  aspect  of  affairs.  M. 
Charpentier  was  not  deceived  in  his  expectations :  a 
large  number  of  copies  of  the  reprinted  poems  were  sold, 
and  the  other  works  by  the  same  author  came  in  their 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  215 

turn  to  furnish  occupation  for  the  printers.  It  was  a 
financial  revolution  for  our  poet,  and  he  repeated  many 
times,  —  "Sister  Marcelline  predicted  this;  and  yet  the 
poor  girl  hardly  knows  what  a  verse  is." 

For  the  complete  enjoyment  of  his  leisure  and  freedom 
of  mind,  our  convalescent  resolved  to  regale  himself  with 
some  interminable  reading.  He  read  the  whole  of 
"  Clarissa  Harlowe  "  for  the  second  time,  and  then  he 
wanted  the  "  Memorial  de  Sainte  Helbne,"  into  which  he 
plunged,  and  read  and  reread,  until  the  pages  were  fairly 
disfigured.  Afterwards  he  wished  to  make  himself  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  memoirs  which  had  been  published 
concerning  the  empire;  not  forgetting  the  journal  of 
Antomarchi.  According  to  his  wont,  he  exhausted  the 
subject.  When  he  was  possessed  by  this  sort  of  rage 
for  a  person,  his  reading,  his  thinking,  and  his  conversa- 
tion constituted  a  genuine  monograph.  I  asked  him 
what  it  was  which  had  attracted  him  so  powerfully  to- 
ward the  imperial  epoch,  and  he  replied,  —  "  Its  greatness. 
The  pleasure  of  living  in  imagination  in  a  heroic  time, 
and  the  need  of  getting  away  from  our  own.  I  am  tired 
of  little  things,  and  I  turn  toward  the  quarter  where 
great  ones  are  to  be  had.  I  care  more  to  know  how  that 
man  put  on  his  boots,  than  for  all  the  secrets  of  the 
present  political  situation  in  Europe.  I  know  quite  well 
that  clever  people  nowadays  dread  nothing  so  much  as 
being  ridiculed  for  chauvinisme ;^  but,  for  my  own  part, 
I  snap  my  fingers  at  that  sort  of  ridicule." 

'  Military  braggadocia,  a  loud  and  boastful  type  of  patriotism.  The 
name  is  derived  from  Chauvin,  the  veteran  sergeant  in  Scribe's  "  Soldat 
Laboureur,"  and  is  especially  applied  to  the  worship  of  glory  and  the  great 
emperor  under  the  Napoleonic  regime. 


2i6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

The  month  of  June  arrived,  and  the  Parisians  began 
to  disperse.  Tattet  invited  his  friend  to  try  the  air  of 
Bur}'.  As  in  former  years,  they  rode  horseback  night 
and  day  in  the  woods  of  Montmorency.  On  the  spot 
where,  in  1838,  Alfred  had  composed  the  happy  sonnet, 
beginning,  "Quel  plaisir  d'etre  au  monde,"  he  real- 
ized the  change  which  a  short  time  had  wrought  in  his 
opinions  and  tastes.  The  turbulent  life  which  they  led 
at  Bury  inspired  him  only  with  the  desire  to  turn  his 
horse  into  some  solitary  path.  His  friends  have  told  me 
that  one  morning  when  he  was  late  about  rising,  they 
went  into  his  room,  and  found  upon  his  table  a  sonnet 
to  which,  when  he  afterwards  published  it,  he  gave  the 
name  of  "Tristesse."  After  having  allowed  the  state 
of  his  mind  to  be  suspected  by  the  active  companions 
whose  zeal  for  pleasure  he  no  longer  shared,  he  was 
afraid  of  being  a  check  upon  them,  and  he  came  away. 

At  about  this  time  there  was  a  transient  revival  of  in- 
terest in  politics.  War  was  thought  to  be  imminent. 
France,  finding  herself  once  more  alone  and  confronted 
by  her  old  enemies,  made  as  though  she  would  resist  a 
new  coalition  consolidated  by  England.  So  long  as  the 
government  preserved  its  bellicose  attitude,  they  contin- 
ued to  tack  on  the  other  side  of  the  channel ;  but  on  the 
day  when  the  king  of  France,  who  was  considered  able, 
made  the  blunder  of  announcing  in  his  ultimatum  that 
he  would  not  go  to  the  length  of  actual  hostilities,  his 
enemies,  as  might  have  been  anticipated,  redoubled 
their  arrogance.  There  is  no  need  to  rehearse  the  piti- 
ful part  played  by  France  in  1840.  Her  influence  in  the 
east  was  destroyed  for  a  long  time  to  come.    Like  all 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  217 

honorable  men,  Alfred  de  Musset  grievously  resented  his 
country's  humiliation ;  and  the  day  when  the  shameful 
conclusion  was  made  known,  he  angrily  exclaimed,  "  This 
reign  has  lasted  too  long." 

When  the  policy  oi  peace  at  any  price  had  been  fairly 
resumed,  Alfred  endeavored  to  forget  it  all.  He  haunted 
the  galleries  of  the  Theatre  Frangais,  whatever  the  play 
might  be,  and  notwithstanding  the  heat  of  summer.  One 
evening  when  the  audience  was  very  small,  —  they  were 
only  playing  Moliere,  —  he  came  home  and  wrote  that 
curious  piece  which  he  called  "  Une  Soirde  Perdue,"  and 
which  is  at  once  a  satire  and  an  elegy.  The  "  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes  "  profited  by  this  graceful  flight  of  fancy. 

Shortly  after,  Mme.  Berryer  invited  my  brother  and 
me  to  come  and  meet  the  godmother  and  several  other 
agreeable  people  whom  she  had  collected  at  her  house. 
Accordingly,  we  went  to  Augerville  together  about  the 
middle  of  September.  The  first  part  of  our  journey 
passed  off  gaily  ;  but  while  we  were  crossing  from  Fon- 
tainebleau  to  Malesherbes,  my  brother  became  dreamy, 
and  his  melancholy  mood  infected  me.  Without  con- 
fessing as  much  to  one  another,  we  both  found  ourselves 
carried  back  to  the  same  time.  These  mysterious  shades, 
these  lofty  forests  so  like  Gothic  cathedrals,  the  dark 
walls  outlined  against  a  blazing  sky,  —  all  these  things 
were  unchanged  in  appearance  since  1833.  What  signi- 
fied seven  years  more  or  less  to  trees  three  hundred 
years  old  ?  At  every  step  Alfred  felt  the  memories  of  his 
youth  starting  into  more  vivid  life.  The  few  words  which 
he  said  I  found  again  five  months  later  in  the  lines  now 
so  well  known, — 


2l8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

"  Que  sont-ils  devenus  les  chagrins  de  ma  vie  ? 

Tout  ce  qui  m'a  fait  vieux  est  bien  loin  maintenant, 
Et  rien  qu'en  regardant  cette  valine  amie 
Je  redeviens  enfant."  ^ 

While  his  thoughts  lingered  about  the  favorite  ride 
and  all  the  charming  spots,  mine  went  farther,  and  I  re- 
called the  day  of  his  departure  for  Italy,  the  horrible 
winter  of  1834,  our  desolated  home,  the  six  weeks  of 
suspense  when  we  heard  nothing  from  our  absent  one, 
the  return  still  sadder  than  the  departure,  —  until  the 
beauty  of  the  forest  made  me  shiver.  Crushing  the  fine 
sand  and  jolting  over  the  pavements,  our  uncomfortable 
vehicle  brought  us  at  last  to  the  hospitable  asylum 
where  a  delightful  circle  was  awaiting  us  ;  and  in  the 
evening,  after  dinner,  we  introduced  into  a  charade  the 
frightful  drama  of  "  Pouch  Lafarge,"  who  was  so  ill  fed 
by  his  better  half  \  for  the  public  was  just  then  divided 
into  the  accusers  and  the  partisans  of  Marie  Capelle. 

Thanks  to  the  pending  lawsuit,  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  discussion  at  Augerville  about  the  art  of  poisoning 
and  the  ways  of  proving  death  by  poison  ;  out  of  which 
arose  the  project  of  turning  the  story  of  Simone  into 
verse.  The  last  stanzas  will  be  found  to  contain  slight 
allusions  to  the  contest  in  the  Court  of  Assizes ;  while 
the  introduction  betrays  a  good  deal  of  anxiety  about 
the  evil  course  that  literature  was  taking.  Two  months 
later,  the  author  had  pointed  out  the  deplorable  vagaries 
of  the  drama.     Recurring  now  to  pages  written  so  long 

'  Where  are  now  the  sorrows  of  my  life?  That  which  has  made  me  old 
is  now  far  away.  And  the  mere  sight  of  this  beloved  valley  makes  me 
a  child  once  more. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  219 

Ago,  we  are  struck  with  the  prophetic  character  of  all 
that  portion  which  consists  of  literary  criticism  and  ob- 
servations on  mental  condition.  But  alas !  in  vain 
have  poets  received  the  gift  of  second  sight.  The  fate 
of  their  predictions  is  not  precisely  like  that  of  Cassan- 
dra's. We  listen  and  admire.  We  are  amazed  that  they 
should  be  able  to  tell  us  so  exactly  what  is  thought  by 
people  of  taste.     And  then  the  torrent  rolls  on. 

At  Augerville,  Alfred  was  apparently  as  happy  as  a 
child  in  vacation  ;  nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight, 
he  brought  forward  a  pretext  of  pressing  business,  and 
took  his  leave.  Although  Rachel  needed  no  champion, 
I  hoped  that  he  was  returning  to  Paris  for  her  sake  ;  but 
it  was  written  that  these  two  creatures  whose  perfect  ac- 
cord was  so  much  to  be  desired  should  never  remain 
good  friends  for  more  than  two  weeks  at  a  time.  Almost 
as  soon  as  Alfred  saw  Rachel  again,  they  fell  out  with 
one  another. 

These  trifles  derive  serious  importance  from  the  fact 
that,  in  consequence  of  the  quarrel,  all  thoughts  were 
abandoned,  both  of  the  "  Alcestis  "  and  the  "  Servante 
du  Roi,"  and  the  one  completed  act  of  the  latter  piece 
was  thrust  away  in  a  box.  Many  people  will  think  that 
the  author  did  not  very  well  understand  his  true  interests  ; 
and  probably  there  are  those  among  living  dramatic 
writers  who  would  have  prosecuted  their  task  with  en- 
tire indifference  to  the  ungrateful  comments  of  Rachel. 
"  Let  her  say  what  she  will  of  me,"  they  would  have  said, 
"provided  she  accepts  a  part  which  I  have  arranged. 
If  the  piece  brings  a  good  sum  of  money,  the  rest 
matters  little."    But  Alfred  de  Musset  was  not  exactly 


220  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

like  all  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and  since  the  sensibility 
of  poets,  unreasonable  as  it  seems,  is  the  source  of  their 
genius,  we  must  forgive  them  for  it. 

His  method  of  banishing  Rachel,  Fredegonde,  and 
the  annoyances  of  the  side-scenes,  was  to  plunge  into 
the  ideal  world,  and  work  to  please  somebody  else ;  in 
this  instance  his  godmamma,  who  was  greatly  interested 
in  the  subject  of  "  Simone."  This  little  poem,  which 
Alfred  wrote  with  enjoyment  and  even  enthusiasm,  ap- 
peared in  the  "Revue"  for  Dec.   i,  1840. 

On  the  eleventh  of  the  same  month,  the  author  com- 
pleted his  thirtieth  year.  That  morning  his  air  and 
bearing  struck  me  as  graver  than  usual.  He  made  in- 
quiries about  the  precise  hour  of  his  birth.  I  knew  how 
he  was  feeling,  and  we  talked  long  together.  "  I  have 
come,"  he  said,  "  to  one  of  my  climacterics.  It  is  ten 
years  and  something  more  since  1  said  my  first  word  to 
the  public.  You  know  what  I  have  thought  and  suffered. 
You  know  what  luggage  I  carry,  and  can  estimate  its 
value.  You  can  appreciate  better  than  I  can  myself  the 
reputation  which  I  have  won.  Now,  answer  me  truly,  — 
Do  you  think  that  justice  has  been  done  me  ?  " 

Unhesitatingly,  I  replied  "  No." 

"  I  have  thought  so  myself,"  he  replied,  "  but  feared 
that  I  was  mistaken.  The  public  fs  behindhand  with 
me.  It  is  silent  about  the  things  I  publish  to  a  degree 
which  amazes  me.  I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to  play 
the  part  of  an  unappreciated  genius  ;  but  after  ten  years 
of  work  I  think  that  I  have  the  right  to  withdraw  inside 
my  tent.  I  am  quite  willing  to  say  to  myself  that  I  have 
been  a  child  until  now  j  but  I  do  not  want  others  to  say 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  221 

it  of  me.     It  is  high  time  that  I  had  my  dues.     If  I  do 
not  get  them,  I  will  be  silent." 

Alfred  sat  up  very  late  on  the  night  of  the  nth  of 
December ;  which  was  not  in  itself  remarkable,  since  he 
rarely  went  to  bed  before  two  in  the  morning.  It  was 
during  that  night  apparently  that  he  wrote  out  the  fol- 
lowing reflections,  on  a  stray  bit  of  paper  which  lay 
about  his  table  for  a  long  time  afterwards:  — 

"  Thirty  years  old  ! 

"  There  is  a  mournful  look  to  be  turned  uppn  the  past,  only 
to  see  there  dead  hopes  and  dead  sorrows  ;  and  a  still  more 
mournful  one  to  be  turned  upon  the  future,  there  to  see  —  the 
winter  of  life  ! 

"  There  is  a  foolish  thing  to  be  attempted  ;  and  that  is  to 
keep  on  being  a  child,  and  yet  it  was  a  fine  thing  with  those 
who  were  beloved  of  the  gods,  with  Mozart,  Raphael,  Byron, 
and  Weber,  who  died  at  thirty-six ! 

"There  is  a  chilling  thing  to  be  done,  and  that  is  to 
say  to  one's  self, '  All  is  over ; '  yet,  when  Gothe  said  it,  it  was 
noble. 

"  There  is  a  stupid  thing  to  be  done,  —  to  fancy  that  one 
has  risen  superior  to  one's  self  ;  to  assume  the  style  of  an  ac- 
complished man  ;  to  live  like  an  experienced  egotist. 

"  A  languid,  lazy  thing  to  be  done,  —  not  to  hear  the  clock 
when  it  strikes  ! 

"  A  brave  thing  to  be  done,  —  to  hear  it,  and  yet  to  live  on 
in  spite  of  the  gods.  But  in  that  case  one  could,  not  believe 
in  eternity  ! 

"  A  sublime  thing  to  be  done ;  and  that  is  not  even  to 
know  that  the  clock  is  striking.  But  in  that  case  one  would 
have  to  believe  in  every  thing  ! 

"  However  it  be,  it  is  certain  that,  at  this  age,  the  hearts  of 
some  crumble  to  dust,  while  those  of  others  live  on.  Lay 
your  hand  upon  your  heart,  for  the  moment  is  come.  It 
falters.    Has  it  ceased  to  beat  ?    Become  ambitious  or  avari- 


222  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset, 

cious,  one  or  the  other  ;  or  else  die  at  once  !     Is  it  beating 
still  ?    Then  let  the  gods  do  their  worst !    Nothing  is  lost." 

The  poet  had  indeed  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and 
listened  attentively.  But  that  heart  was  beating  still,  and 
nothing  was  lost. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  223 


XIV. 

T  ORD  BYRON  said  good-bye  to  youth  at  the  age 
"*-'  of  thirty-six.  Alfred  de  Musset,  always  eager  to 
devour  the  time,  had  anticipated  by  a  few  years  that 
crisis  after  which  we  see  the  future  in  a  new  light. 
Ever  since  the  month  of  September,  he  had  been  dream- 
ing over  his  excursion  to  the  woods  of  Fontainebleau. 
The  impressions  which  he  received'  on  that  journey  were 
both  sweet  and  bitter ;  but,  by  and  by,  the  bitter  element, 
which  had  never  been  powerful,  disappeared  altogether. 
His  recollections  would  have  faded  away  entirely  but 
for  an  unforeseen  circumstance,  which  emphasized  them 
anew  and  turned  them  to  the  profit  of  poesy.  In  the 
corridors  of  the  Theatre  Italien,  Alfred  met  a  lady  whom 
he  had  wellnigh  forgotten  for  many  years ;  but  who  had 
first  crossed  his  path  under  the  shades  of  that  forest. 
He  came  home  a  good  deal  agitated.  The  Muse  came 
with  him,  and  invited  him  to  labor.  He  resolved  to  en- 
tertain her  as  in  happier  days,  by  a  grand  illumination 
and  a  banquet.  It  was  like  the  meeting  of  two  recon- 
ciled friends ;  and  the  Muse,  touched  by  her  welcome, 
gave  herself  up  without  reserve.  Whole  stanzas  flowed 
out  upon  the  paper  at  one  pulse  of  the  fountain.  The 
poet  did  not  lie  down  before  daybreak,  nor  did  his  in- 
spiration slacken  even  in  sleep ;  but  the  moment  he 
awoke  he  seized  the  pen.  The  "  Souvenir  "  appeared 
in  the  "  Revue,"  Feb.  15,  1841. 


224  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

When  he  had  received  the  congratulations  of  his 
mother,  those  of  his  friend  Tattet,  and  the  letter  from 
his  godmamma,  which  never  failed  under  such  circum- 
stances, Alfred  said  to  me,  "  This  is  all  I  shall  get  by 
my  sacrifice  to  the  public.  I  have  thrown  to  the  beasts 
my  bleeding  heart.  I  have  wrestled  with  my  thought, 
to  the  end  that  a  madman  or  a  blockhead  might  hum 
these  lines  like  any  common  song,  — 

"  '  Mas  yeux  ont  contempid  des  objets  plus  funfebres 
Que  Juliette  morte,  au  fond  de  son  tombeau.'  ^ 

"  I  said  these  words  aloud,  alone  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  and  there  they  are  flung  away  to  be  picked  up  by 
any  idle  passer-by.  Why  could  they  not  have  waited 
till  I  was  dead  ?  But  you  will  see  that  nobody  will  say 
a  word  about  them  then." 

In  short,  he  was  beginning  to  perceive  that  his  most 
remarkable  poems  seemed,  at  the  time  of  their  appear- 
ance, to  fall  into  a  void.  Ever  since  his  genius  had 
taken  a  bolder  flight ;  ever  since  his  verses  had  acquired 
a  world-wide  range,  so  that  any  one  with  a  heart  might 
have  felt  their  beauty,  —  the  press  had  feigned  uncon- 
sciousness of  them  :  and,  if  haply  the  name  of  their  author 
were  mentioned,  it  was  merely  to  quote,  with  dishearten- 
ing levity,  the  poet  of  the  Spanish  tales,  as  though  he 
had  made  no  progress  whatever  since  1830. 

For  a  long  while,  Alfred  de  Musset  refused  to  believe 
in  that  conspiracy  of  silence,  which  every  one  else  ob- 
served.    He  was  too  kindly  readily  to   admit  such  a 

1  "  My  eyes  have  seen  sights  more  funereal  than  that  of  Juliet  dead  in  the 
tomb  " 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mil s set.  225 

thought,  too  magnanimous  to  see  meanness  in  others, 
too  dignified  to  take  a  single  one  of  those  steps  which 
are  supposed  to  be  indispensable  to  the  success  of  any 
literary  work.  When,  finally,  the  truth  fairly  stared  him 
in  the  face,  he  failed  to  recognize  it.  Now  and  then,  he 
felt  the  ill-will  of  those  who  award  reputation.  The  in- 
justice grieved  him  ;  but  he  was  too  proud  to  let  his 
disappointment  be  known.  His  modesty  always  took  the 
turn  of  self-disparagement.  And,  while  he  pronounced 
the  funeral  oration  of  poetry  and  the  arts,  he  judged 
himself  with  incredible  severity.  In  these  moments  of 
discouragement,  he  insisted  that  others  should  agree  with 
him,  and  corroborate  his  own  extreme  views.  After  that, 
a  word  would  sufiice  to  produce  a  reaction  in  his  mind ; 
but,  when  you  had  restored  him  to  a  sense  of  his  power, 
you  had  also  restored  his  spirit  of  indifference.  How 
many  times  when  urged  to  work,  his  answer  has  been, 
"  Why  should  I  ?     Who  cares  ?     Who  will  thank  me  ? " 

We  have  seen  that,  in  1840,  he  had  resolved  for  the 
future  to  write  verse  only.  After  the  publication  of  the 
"  Souvenir,"  he  determined  to  write  merely  for  his  own 
pleasure.  Thenceforward  his  table  was  strewn  with 
sonnets,  songs,  and  stanzas.  He  amused  himself  by 
writing  in  a  hurry  —  sometimes  in  short-hand  —  on  scraps 
of  paper,  the  envelopes  of  letters,  the  margin  of  a  litho- 
graph, or  the  cover  of  a  novel,  as  though  to  prove  that 
what  he  wrote  interested  himself  alone,  and  was  never ' 
to  see  the  light.  I  waited  until  some  stimulant  should 
rouse  him ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  received  none  but 
disagreeable  impressions  ;  for  there  are  periods  in  life 
when  one  trouble  invokes  another  as  its  complement, 

IS 


226  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

and  our  woes  are  mutually  aggravated  by  a  kind  of 
logical  connection. 

I  have  told  how  the  friendly  relations  between  Rachel 
and  her  champion  were  interrupted.  Just  then,  Pauline 
Garcia  was  absent.  To  the  shame  of  the  Parisians  b^ 
it  said,  the  mass  of  the  public  had  not  obeyed  the  im- 
pulse given  by  people  of  taste  on  the  first  appearance  of 
the  youthful  singer.  The  sister  of  Malibran  sang  in  her 
own  style,  and  according  to  her  own  feelings.  At  that 
time,  there  were  certain  infallible  methods  of  getting 
one's  self  applauded  at  the  Thditre  Italian,  certain 
noises,  hiccoughs,  and  invariable  pauses,  which  never 
failed  of  success.  It  was  a  routine  equally  convenient 
for  the  artists  and  the  habitudes  of  the  theatre ;  since  it 
rendered  quite  unnecessary  any  knowledge  of  music 
on  the  part  of  the  audience.  Pauline  Garcia  repudiated 
these  vulgar  recipes.  She  adopted  a  course  just  the  re- 
verse of  the  fashionable  one,  and  disdained  the  old 
effects  which  were  looked  for  at  certain  places  in  her 
parts.  On  the  other  hand,-  she  had  flashes  of  genius 
which  passed  quite  unnoticed.  In  a  word,  she  was  origi- 
nal. She  needed  to  be  understood,  and  she  was  not 
understood.  After  having  sung  Desdemona,  Rosina, 
Tancrede,  and  Cinderella,  with  decreasing  success,  she 
thought  that  she  had  tried  long  enough ;  and  she  de- 
parted to  a  foreign  land,  to  the  great  regret  of  the  poet, 
who  had  celebrated  her  debut,  and  saluted  that  "new 
era  "  which  two  years  had  sufficed  to  extinguish. 

A  lady  to  whom  Alfred  de  Musset  had  become  much 
attached  during  his  illness  had  also  gone  away  for  a 
long  absence.      The  Princess  Belgiojoso,  whose  salon 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  227 

was  one  of  the  pleasantest  in  Paris,  was  passing  the 
winter  in  Italy.  She  was  making  a  noble  use  of  her 
large  fortune,  by  founding  an  important  charitable  es- 
tablishment some  leagues  from  Milan.  Like  Sister  Mar- 
celline,  she  had  talked  very  seriously  with  the  poet. 
Alfred  wrote  to  his  fair  monitress,  and  told  her  how  keenly 
he  regretted  the  affectionate  sermons  to  which  her  voice 
had  lent  so  much  sweetness,  adding  that  he  would  gladly 
have  a  slight  illness  for  the  sake  of  hearing  more  of  the 
same.  The  princess  replied  by  inviting  him  to  come  to 
Italy,  where  he  would  find  a  genial  climate,  a  healthful 
regimen,  and  other  sources  of  inspiration  than  were  fur- 
nished by  the  Boulevard  de  Gand.  She  promised  him 
entire  freedom,  a  spacious  lodging,  a  family  library  filled 
with  rare  books,  and  as  many  sermons  as  he  might 
desire.  This  graceful  invitation  filled  him  with  joy  and 
gratitude.  Again  and  again,  during  the  winter  of  1841, 
he  repeated,  —  "I  am  not  forgotten  by  everybody. 
When  it  becomes  intolerably  tedious  here,  I  shall  know 
where  to  look  for  hospitality."  * 

But  while  he  talked  in  Paris  about  going  to  Italy,  he 
wrote  to  Milan  that  the  project  was  a  dream. 

In  the  month  of  May,  it  was  the  godmother's  turn. 
Usually  her  absences  were  brief ;  but  this  year  she  went 
into  the  country,  intending  to  remain  nearly  all  summer. 
She  took  care  not  to  confide  her  purpose  to  her  godson ; 
but  he,  while  expecting  her  return  from  day  to  day,  went 
back  to  his  sad  refrain  that  his  friends  were  falling  off, 
and  the  desert  widening  around  him. 

He  got  up  one  morning,  carrying  in  his  looks  that 
motto  of  Valentine  of  Milan  which  he  was  so  fond  of 


228  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

quoting.  It  actually  seemed  as  if  nothing  ever  would 
rouse  him  out  of  his  dejection,  when  his  eye  happened 
to  light  on  the  song  of  the  poet  Becker.  It  proved  the 
spur  which  woke  him  suddenly.  The  Vicomte  Delaunay, 
in  one  of  his  witty  papers,  has  pleased  himself  by  de- 
scribing, in  a  very  sprightly  fashion,  the  origin  of  the 
"Rhin  Allemand."  All  this  anecdote  lacks  is  veracity. 
It  is  made  up  from  beginning  to  end.  The  truth  is  as 
follows :  — 

On  the  first  of  June,  1841,  we  were  breakfasting  at 
home,  when  a  copy  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  " 
was  brought  in,  which  contained  both  Becker's  song  and 
the  "  Marseillaise  de  la  Paix."  Alfred,  seeing  some 
verses  by  Lamartine  in  the  table  of  contents,  turned  at 
once  to  that  page  of  the  magazine.  When  he  read  those 
six  couplets  of  Becker's  which  contain  in  so  few  words 
so  many  insults  to  France,  he  knitted  his  brows  ;  but, 
when  he  had  read  the  reply  to  them,  he  knitted  them 
still  more.  No  doubt  he  would  have  approved  the  feeling 
which  inspired  the  "  Marseillaise  de  la  Paix,"  if  the  piece 
had  appeared  by  itself.  It  is  perfectly  legitimate  to  invite 
all  men  to  clasp  hands  without  distinction  of  race,  name,  or 
geographical  boundary.  As  a  philosophical  proposition, 
it  is  as  good  as  any  other ;  but  to  reply  to  an  insolent 
challenge  by  opening  one's  arms  to  the  challenger  is  to 
choose  one's  time  ill.  This  was  the  way  Alfred  de  Musset 
looked  at  it ;  and  since,  to  his  mind,  the  "  Marseillaise 
de  la  Paix "  was  no  answer  to  Becker's  song,  the  de- 
sire seized  him  to  answer  it  himself.  The  more  we  dis- 
cussed it  at  the  breakfast-table,  the  more  animated  his 
face  grew.     He  flushed  to  his  very  ears.     Finally,  he 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  229 

struck  the  table  with  his  fist,  retired  into  his  own  room 
and  shut  the  door.  At  the  end  of  two  hours,  he  emerged 
and  repeated  to  us  the  "  Rhin  Allemand."  For  all  M. 
de  Lamartine  called  it  a  "  tavern-song,"  it  made  an  im- 
mense stir.  The  Due  d'Orldans  at  once  despatched 
his  congratulations  to  the  author;  for,  since  the  retro- 
grade movement  of  the  preceding  year,  the  political 
situation  had  not  been  such  as  to  allow  the  heir-appar- 
ent to  express  himself  openly.  It  is  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that  at  least  fifty  composers  wrote  music  for  this 
song.  One  of  these  airs  was  adopted  by  the  army,  and 
sung  in  all  the  barracks.  Prussian  officers  wrote  the 
author  taunting  letters,  some  in  German  and  others  in 
French,  making  appointments  at  Baden,  and  inviting 
him  to  fight  them  there  on  such  or  such  a  day.  As  often 
as  one  of  these  letters  arrived,  he  laid  it  carefully  away 
in  a  drawer.  "  These  are  fine  young  men,"  he  said:  "  I 
like  their  patriotism.  It  gratifies  me  to  perceive  that  my 
verses  have  gone  to  the  right  spot.  I  have  clinched 
Becker's  nail.  But  why  does  he  not  write  me  himself  ? 
He  is  the  man  I  would  like  to  fight.  As  for  my  young 
Prussians,  they  may  fight  with  the  French  officers  who 
have  challenged  Becker,  if  there  are  any." 

The  "  Rhin  Allemand  "  was  composed  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  first  of  June.  Out  of  respect  for  the  author 
of  the  "  Marseillaise  de  la  Paix,"  Alfred  refused  to  pub- 
lish it  in  the  "  Revue."  Moreover,  the  next  number 
would  not  come  for  a  fortnight.  He  therefore  offered 
the  piece  to  the  "  Revue  de  Paris,"  which  was  published 
weekly  ;  and  there  it  appeared  on  Sunday,  June  6th,  while 
the  Vicomte  Delaunay's  comments  on  it  were  printed  in 
the  "  Presse." 


230  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

From  Tourraine,  where  she  was  spending  the  sum- 
mer, came  the  godmother's  congratulations  to  her  child. 
"  The  '  Rhin  Allemand,'  she  wrote,  "  is  better  than  the 
best  songs  of  Beranger.  There  is  a  breath  of  loftier 
poetry  in  it."  To  compliments  she  added  exhortations 
to  industry.  The  godson  replied  that  his  patriotic 
fibres  would  not  be  stirred  every  morning,  and  that  his 
heart  was  fast  asleep  and  would  not  wake  easily.  The 
godmother  again  reproached  him  for  his  indolence,  and 
again  he  made  a  jesting  defence.  "  It  is  all  your  fault," 
he  answered,  "  if  I  am  tired  to  death  and  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  my  evenings.  But  ennui  and  indiffer- 
ence are  the  best  possible  remedies  for  the  disease 
called  poesy.  Consequently,  I  am  very  well ;  and  what 
are  you  scolding  about  ?  " 

In  fact,  the  summer  of  1841  seemed  to  him  intermi- 
nable. The  manager  of  the  "  Revue  "  had  quite  as  good 
a  right  as  the  godmother  to  exclaim  against  his  in- 
dolence, and  I  emphasized  all  he  said.  Alfred  was 
sincerely  fond  of  M.  Buloz,  and  very  sorry  that  he  could 
not  satisfy  him.  Finally,  after  a  silence  of  six  months, 
after  being  repeatedly  and  earnestly  pressed  to  explain 
his  conduct,  he  wrote  the  verses,  "  Sur  la  Paresse," 
which  he  addressed  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  the  man 
most  interested  in  the  question.  Usually,  a  satire  loses 
its  point  in  a  little  while  :  but  these  verses  read  as 
if  they  had  been  written  yesterday  ;  a  fact  which  proves 
that  the  author  understood  perfectly  the  eccentricities  of 
his  age,  and  that  the  age  has  not  yet  overcome  them. 
Read  over  the  passages  about  hypocrisy,  the  unbridled 
love   of  money,  pompous   egotism,  the   importance  of 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  231 

bread  and  butter,  and  that  mediocrity  which  understands 
nothing  but  itself.  It  is  all  seasonable  at  the  end  of 
thirty  years.  The  epistle  was  published  on  the  first  of 
January,  1842.  "There,"  said  the  author,  "that  is  the 
cleverest  thing  I  ever  wrote." 

I  asked  him  where  the  cleverness  lay.  "Don't  you 
see,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  given  reasons  for  my  silence ; 
and  these  reasons,  whether  good  or  bad,  imply  a  promise 
that  that  silence  shall  continue.  Really,  it  remains  to 
be  seen  whether  I  keep  my  word.  But  when  the  world 
perceives  that  my  disdain  is  real  and  unaffected,  as  it 
certainly  is,  I  shall  no  longer  give  umbrage  to  any  one. 
Those  who  pretend  to  be  unaware  of  my  existence  will 
consent  to  acknowledge  it.  Am  I  a  clerk  or  a  copyist, 
that  people  should  pester  me  about  the  employment  of 
my  time  ?  I  have  written  a  great  deal.  I  have  made  as 
many  verses  as  Dante  or  Tasso.  Who  the  deuce  ever 
presumed  to  call  them  lazy  ?  If  Gothe  took  it  into  his 
head  to  fold  his  hands,  who  ever  reproved  him  for  frit- 
tering away  his  time  over  science  ?  I  will  follow  Gothe's 
example  to  the  day  of  my  death,  if  it  suits  me !  My 
Muse  is  my  own  ;  and  I  will  show  the  public  that  she 
obeys  me,  and  I  am  her  master,  and  that,  if  it  wants  any 
thing  of  her,  it  must  do  as  I  like." 

When  Tattet,  in  his  turn,  requested  his  friend  to  ex- 
plain the  course  he  was  taking,  he  received  in  reply  the 
following  verses,  — 

"  Le  mal  des  gens  d'esprit,  c'est  leur  indifference, 
Celui  des  gens  de  cceur,  leur  inutility."  ' 

1  "  The  trouble  with  people  of  mind  is  their  indi£ference ;  with  people  of 
heart,  their  impracticability." 


232  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

The  next  number  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes," 
after  that  in  which  the  letter  on  Indolence  appeared, 
was  to  contain  an  article  by  M.  Sainte  Beuve.  In  read- 
ing the  proofs  of  this  article,  M.  Buloz  came  upon  a 
paragraph,  the  terms  of  which  he  thought  calculated  to 
put  the  modesty  of  Alfred  de  Musset  to  too  severe  a 
test.  On  the  eve  of  the  publication  of  the  number,  he 
sent  me  a  hasty  note,  begging  me  to  come  and  see  him. 
I  complied,  and  he  read  me  the  paragraph.  It  was  a 
classification  of  living  poets ;  not  in  the  order  of  their 
merit,  but  in  what  the  critic  conceived  to  be  the  order 
of  their  celebrity.  It  was  a  perfectly  useless  thing,  prov- 
ing nothing  whatever  :  and  the  least  of  the  objections  to 
it  was  the  one  that  the  author  himself  allowed  ;  namely, 
that  it  was  sure  to  wound  the  persons  mentioned,  quite 
as  much  as  those  whose  names  were  omitted.  In  this 
classification,  Alfred  de  Musset  was  assigned  to  the 
third  rank,  and  to  a  class  so  numerous  that  there  were 
even  ladies  in  it.  The  critic  added,  however,  that  if  the 
young  poet  were  often  to  write  satires  like  the  verses 
"  Sur  la  Paresse,"  or  meditations  like  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai," 
he  would  stand  a  good  chance  of  promotion  to  another 
group. 

M.  Buloz  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  this  judgment : 
and  I  replied  that,  if  the  writer  of  it  had  stopped  his 
readings  at  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai,"  it  would  be  a  good  plan 
to  send  him  the  twenty  copies  of  the  "Revue  "  which  con- 
tained the  other  Nights,  and  the  various  poems  and 
"  meditations "  published  during  the  last  six  years ; 
moreover,  that  I  should  hardly  have  expected  to  find 
the  author  of  the  letter  on  Indolence  confounded  with 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  233 

versifiers  to  whom  the  manager  of  the  "  Revue  "  had 
frequently  returned  their  productions,  with  as  little  con- 
sideration for  "ladies"  as  for  gentlemen  ;  that  I  thought 
the  judgment  in  question  thoroughly  unfair,  even  in 
respect  of  applying  the  word  "  meditations  "  to  poems 
of  unquestionable  originality ;  that  it  did  not  become 
the  "  Revue  "  to  speak  in  such  terms  of  one  of  its  most 
popular  editors  ;  but  that,  if  they  desired  to  transfix 
their  readers  by  the  insertion  of  a  page  which  would 
give  more  pain  to  Alfred  de  Musset's  admirers  than 
even  to  himself,  the  article  was  perfectly  adapted  to  its 
end,  and  ought  not  to  be  altered  in  the  least.  M. 
Buloz  hastened  to  assure  me  that  he  had  no  such  inten- 
tion, and  he  promised  that  he  would  request  M.  Sainte 
Beuve  either  to  modify  or  entirely  suppress  that  passage 
in  his  article. 

Nevertheless,  I  knew  the  irritable  temper  and  imprac- 
ticable vanity  of  M.  Sainte  Beuve  so  well,  that,  when 
the  number  came  on  the  fifteenth  of  January,  I  had  a 
presentiment  that  nothing  would  be  changed.  Alfred 
took  the  pamphlet,  opened  it  at  random,  and  lighted 
directly  upon  the  page  where  his  name  occurred.  After 
an  instant,  he  laid  the  number  on  the  mantel,  saying,  in 
a  low  tone,  "  Et  tu,  Sainte  Beuve  ! " 

He  at  once  changed  the  subject,  and  refused  to  recur 
to  it.  As  for  me,  I  protested  as  I  had  a  right  to  do,  and 
took  the  consequences  of  my  recriminations.  I  have 
been  taking  them  ever  since,  for  they  have  not  yet  come 
to  an  end.  At  present,  a  glance  at  the  poems  of  Alfred 
de  Musset  will  show  that  he  has  not  added  to  his  works, 
since  1842,  many  satires,  or  "meditations"  either;  yet 


234  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

M.  Sainte  Beuve  has  revoked  his  judgment.  He  has 
placed  the  author  of  the  "Nuit  de  Mai"  among  the 
gods,  since  his  death  be  it  understood, — which  is 
why  I  make  this  reparation  to-day.  And  if  my  apology 
seem  somewhat  tardy,  so  was  his. 

Alfred  did  not  go  very  much  into  society  in  1842  ; 
but  he  went  back  to  two  or  three  salons  which  were  fre- 
quented by  friends  of  his.  From  these,  he  several  times 
returned  with  sonnets  or  rondeaux  in  his  head,  which  he 
addressed  on  the  morrow  to  some  lady  or  other ;  but  of 
which,  unfortunately,  he  did  not  always  keep  copies.  As 
for  the  charming  allegory  of  the  "  Merle  Blanc,"  it  was 
composed  for  an  illustrated  publication,  the  author  of 
which  had  won  his  esteem,  and  he  did  not  consider  it 
work  at  all. 

The  illness  through  which  he  had  been  so  carefully 
nursed  by  Sister  Marcelline  had  left  him  with  an  un- 
fortunate tendency  toward  diseases  of  the  chest.  He 
needed  to  take  the  utmost  precaution;  and  he  would 
take  none.  To  the  numerous  colds  which  he  owed 
to  the  organization  of  the  national  guard,  were  added 
others  caught  through  mere  imprudence.  Often,  to  his 
great  annoyance,  he  was  condemned  to  keep  his  room  ; 
but  his  constitution  was  so  elastic  that  a  few  hours  re- 
stored him.  I  would  leave  him  prostrate  in  bed,  and, 
coming  back  almost  immediately  to  keep  him  company, 
I  would  find  him  up,  and  pulling  on  his  walking  boots. 
Twice  during  the  winter  we  called  in  the  physicians ; 
but  they  bled  him  too  profusely. 

Whatever  they  may  say  to  the  contrary,  I  am 
convinced  that  their  lancets  did  him  incurable  harm. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  235 

One  morning  in  March,  when  we  were  at  breakfast, 
I  perceived  that  my  brother,  at  every  pulse-beat, 
gave  a  slight  involuntary  toss  of  the  head.  He  de- 
manded to  know  why  my  mother  and  I  looked  at  him 
curiously  ;  and  we  told  him  what  we  had  observed.  "  I 
did  not  know,"  he  replied,  "  that  that  was  visible ;  but 
I  can  set  your  minds  at  rest." 

He  pressed  the  nape  of  his  neck  in  some  way  with  his 
thumb  and  forefinger,  and  his  head  immediately  ceased 
to  mark  the  pulsations  of  his  heart.  "You  perceive," 
he  said,  "that  this  terrible  disorder  can  be  cured  by  a 
very  cheap  and  simple  method." 

In  our  ignorance,  we  were  reassured ;  but  in  reality 
we  had  seen  the  first  symptom  of  a  most  serious  affec- 
tion, to  which,  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years,  he  was  destined 
to  succumb. 

On  the  return  of  warm  weather,  Alfred  expressed 
a  wish  to  take  a  little  rest  in  the  country;  and  the  doctors 
advised  it.  Our  good  friend  and  cousin,  the  inspector 
of  forests,  had  quitted  the  woods  of  Joinville  for  those  of 
Ivry ;  and,  in  the  hope  that  this  change  of  residence  would 
be  his  last,  he  had  purchased,  near  Pacy-sur-Eure,  the 
little  Chateau  of  Lorey,  which  had  once  belonged  to 
the  renowned  Taglioni.  Life  was  lively  in  the  valley  of 
the  Eure.  People  danced  and  played  comedies,  not  at 
Lorey  alone,  but  also  at  Breuil-Pont,  at  Comte  Louis 
Talleyrand's,  and  with  the  ladies  Roederer  at  Mesnil; 
and  Alfred  repaired  thither  in  response  to  our  cousin's 
numerous  invitations.  On  the  14th  of  July,  at  a  large 
and  gay  party  which  he  attended,  he  observed  that  the 
legitimists    present    were    conversing    in    undertones. 


236  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

Some  startling  piece  of  news  had  been  received,  which 
people  did  not  venture  to  do  more  than  whisper  one  to 
another.  The  master  of  the  house  changed  countenance 
when  he  heard  the  tidings,  and  uttere'd  an  exclamation 
of  grief  and  consternation  :  the  Due  d'Orleans  was  dead. 
Alfred  returned  to  Paris  the  same  day ;  not  to  mingle 
the  vain  expression  of  his  condolence  with  others  more 
or  less  sincere,  but  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  ceremo- 
nies, and  then  to  shut  himself  up  and  give  way  to  his  own 
personal  sorrow  and  regret.  The  death  of  the  prince 
who  had  honored  him  with  the  title  of  friend  took  aw^ay 
all  his  courage.  A  great  many  of  his  illusions  had  been 
dispelled  within  a  brief  period ;  but  now  his  last  hope 
deserted  him.  "Fate,"  he  said,  "has  decreed  that  our 
poor  France  should  have  no  future,  —  not  a  single  day. 
As  for  mine,  it  is  annihilated.  I  see  nothing  before  me 
but  weariness  and  disgust.  I  only  want  to  go  myself  as 
soon  as  may  be." 

I  reminded  him  of  his  passion  for  the  unforeseen,  and 
the  interest  which  he  often  took  in  watching  his  own 
career.  "Nobody  ever  knows,"  I  said,  "what  destiny 
has  in  store  for  him.  Nature  and  chance  are  inexhausti- 
ble." To  which  he  replied,  that  it  had  been  all  very  well  to 
say  so  formerly ;  but  that  now  the  unknown  had  nothing 
to  offer  him, — not  even  in  the  way  of  new  griefs  and 
trials,  which  would  be  welcome  if  he  could  regard  them 
as  salutary  "derivatives,"  alluding  to  the  doctrine  of 
Hippocrates  that  one  inflammation  destroys  another. 

When  it  was  suggested  to  him  that  his  attachment 
to  the  prince  royal  might  seem  to  demand  some  public 
expression  of  his  grief,  he  repudiated  the  idea  of  mak- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  237 

ing  verses  on  such  a  theme.  M.  Asseline,  the  secretary  of 
the  Duchesse  d'Orldans,  brought  him  the  engraving  of  the 
prince  after  Ingres.  Alfred  begged  him  to  express  his 
gratitude ;  and  added  that,  when  the  official  mourners  had 
dried  their  tears,  he  should  have  something  to  say. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Tattet  formed  the  resolution 
of  leaving  Paris,  and  taking  up  his  abode  at  Fontaine- 
bleau.  The  motives  which  impelled  him  thus  to  break 
with  his  past  life  were  too  serious  to  admit  of  discussion. 
Alfred  found  fresh  matter  of  grief  in  this  separation, 
and  felt  it  more  keenly  than  he  had  anticipated.  It  was 
no  "derivative"  (to  use  his  own  expression),  but  an  ag- 
gravation. Tattet  was  not  merely  a  charming  companion 
and  a  faithful  friend  :  he  had  also  precious  qualities  as 
a  confidant  and  a  listener.  His  admiration  for  the  char- 
acter and  genius  of  his  favorite  poet  manifested  them- 
selves with  a  fervor  of  w^hich  every  one  who  approached 
him  felt  the  fascination  ;  and  how  much  more  he  who 
was  the  object  of  it !  The  pleasures,  the  pains,  and  the 
vexations  of  his  friend,  Tattet  laid  to  heart  as  if  they 
had  been  his  own.  At  his  house  used  to  assemble  a 
small  circle  of  agreeable  men,  whom  his  departure  scat- 
tered. There  were  promises  of  frequent  meetings  at 
Fontainebleau  ;  but  daily  confidences,  long  talks,  read- 
ings in  common,  and  the  perpetual  interchange  of  ideas 
and  impressions,  were  no  longer  to  be  expected.  It  was 
a  real  loss,  added  to  the  visionary  one  of  so  many  illu- 
sions and  hopes. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  man,  so  depressed, 
so  discouraged  and  disenchanted,  —  who  reiterated 
with    perfect    sincerity,    "  Nothing    remains   for   me ; " 


238  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

this  drowsy  heart  "  shut  up,"  as  he  declared,  "  for  ever,"  * 
—  was  becoming  daily  more  susceptible  to  the  slightest 
emotion,  and  consequently  more  poetic  than  before. 
Misfortune,  anguish,  and  regret  seemed  only  to  enhance 
his  susceptibility.  A  word,  a  line  of  poetry,  a  strain  of 
melody,  would  bring  the  tears  to  his  eyes.  At  the  very 
moment  when  he  was  lamenting  that  he  had  not  the 
strength  to  live  any  longer,  his  impressions  were  becom- 
ing more  vivid  than  ever,  and  external  objects  were 
acting  upon  his  organization  with  greater  power. 

One  day,  in  his  edition  of  the  four  great  Italian  poets, 
he  came  upon  some  sonnets  by  Michael  Angelo  Buona- 
rotti.  The  depth  of  thought,  the  vigorous  terseness  of 
their  form,  delighted  him.  He  amused  himself  by  trying 
to  detect  in  the  poet's  manner  the  peculiar  qualities  of 
the  sculptor  and  the  painter ;  and,  when  he  found  a 
verse  in  which  the  thought  seemed  to  him  to  be  com- 
pressed into  an  unusually  small  number  of  words,  he 
would  exclaim,  "  There's  brevity  !  " 

He  now  conceived  the  desire  of  delineating,  like 
Michael  Angelo,  some  grand  statuesque  figure.  He 
was  at  that  time  on  intimate  terms  with  a  beautiful  and 
very  distinguished  lady,  for  whom  he  had  a  strong  friend- 
ship ;  but  who  sometimes  treated  him  with  a  curtness 
and  severity  under  which  he  was  not  always  patient,  so 
that  their  relation  was  marred  by  clouds  and  misunder- 
standings.^ I  never  knew  what  the  last  offence  was  ;  but 
I  know  he  must  have  encountered  some  very  harsh, 
unjust,  and  injurious  treatment  on  the  day  when  he  came 

1  See  the  sonnet  to  Alfred  Tattet,  on  his  departure  from  Paris. 

2  See  correspondence  of  Alfred  de  Musset  for  the  year  1842. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  239 

home  resolved  to  break  with  this  lady  for  ever.  In  the 
mood  of  mind  which  I  have  described,  he  wrote  the 
verses  "  Sur  une  Morte."  The  rupture  was  complete 
and  irremediable.  In  order  to  judge  whether  the  writer 
of  those  verses  was  to  blame,  one  should  understand  the 
wound  which  he  resented ;  and  no  one  knows  how  deep 
that  was.  No  one  ever  blamed  the  great  Corneille  for 
yielding  to  an  impulse  of  poetic  wrath  against  a  lady 
who  was  rash  enough  to  ridicule  him.  The  way  not  to 
feel  the  lion's  claw  is  not  to  tease  him. 

Beside  the  sonnets  of  Michael  Angelo,  Alfred  read 
and  re-read,  until  he  knew  them  by  heart,  the  poems  of 
Giacomo  Leopardi,  where  the  vibration  between  stern 
sorrow  and  tender  melancholy  corresponded  with  his 
present  state  of  mind.  When  he  struck  the  cover  of  the 
book,  and  said,  "  This  little  volume  is  worth  a  whole 
epic,"  he  felt  that  Leopardi's  soul  was  the  sister  of  his 
own.  The  Italians  hive  such  keen  intellects  that  they 
are  not  very  fond  of  the  poetry  of  the  heart.  They 
want  long,  high-sounding  words.  Less  fortunate  than 
Alfred  de  Musset,  Leopardi  did  not  receive  justice  from 
his  countrymen  even  after  his  death.  Alfred  was  out- 
raged by  the  thought.  He  desired  to  write  an  article 
for  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  on  this  man  whom 
he  regarded  as  the  first  of  modern  Italian  poets  ;  and  he 
even  collected  some  biographical  materials  for  this  pur- 
pose. But,  while  he  dreamed  of  this,  he  preferred  to 
pay  in  verse  his  tribute  of  sympathy  and  admiration  to 
the  '  Sad  friend  of  Death."  Hence  the  piece  entitled 
"  Aprfes  une  Lecture,"  which  appeared  on  the  fifteenth  of 
November,  1842. 


240  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

While  allowing  for  his  excessive  sensibility  and  natural 
exaggeration,  we  must  concede,  that,  during  the  fatal 
year  of  1842,  Alfred  de  Musset  received  terrible  wounds. 
He  complained  that,  from  every  quarter  at  once,  came 
matter  of  sorrow,  disenchantment,  and  disgust.  "  I 
can  see  nothing,"  he  said,  "but  the  reverse  of  every 
medal." 

Every  symptom  of  deterioration  in  letters,  he  sorrow- 
fully resented.  The  magazine-story  had  just  then  touched 
its  extreme  of  popularity,  cynicism,  and  audacity ;  and 
every  one  who  wielded  a  pen  had  a  right  to  feel  humili- 
ated. Alfred  blushed  for  the  fact,  as  did  all  writers  of 
refinement.  On  the  one  hand,  he  beheld  the  literature 
of  the  imagination  soiled  and  polluted,  and  a  general 
falling  off  in  literary  honesty,  public  taste,  and  an  appre- 
ciation of  what  is  really  fine  ;  on  the  other,  men  of  genius 
losing  courage.  At  thirty-two,  he  lamented  that  he  had 
lived  too  long.  Add,  moreover,  his  broken  idols,  the 
image  of  Rachel  defaced,  Pauline  Garcia  far  away  and 
forgotten,  Tattet's  voluntary  exile,  Sainte  Beuve  relegat- 
ing the  author  of  the  verses  "  Sur  la  Paresse "  to  the 
level  of  female  versifiers,  Lamartine  making  him  wait 
six  years  for  an  answer,  the  Due  d'Orleans  miserably 
slain  by  a  vulgar  carriage  accident, —  and  it  must  be  con- 
ceded that  even  a  man  of  duller  susceptibilities  than 
Alfred  might  here  have  found  cause  of  sadness  and 
lament.  It  is  certain  that,  at  this  epoch,  all  things 
seemed  to  combine  to  affect  him,  and  every  thing  that  in 
any  way  affected  his  mind  or  heart  gave  him  occasion 
for  distress.  Finally,  even  I,  who  would  gladly  have 
consoled  him  by  any  means  in  my  power, —  even  I  contrib- 


BiograpJiy  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  241 

uted  my  pang,  like  all  the  rest.  For  some  years  I  had 
been  dreaming  of  a  trip  to  Italy,  and  just  at  the  close 
of  this  year,  1842,  the  journey  so  long  desired  be- 
came practicable,  and  I  left  home  on  the  nineteenth  of 
November.  Unwilling  to  mar  my  pleasure,  Alfred  said 
not  a  word  of  the  enormous  void  which  my  absence 
would  make  in  his  life,  at  a  time  when  he  needed  me  so 
much.  He  insisted  on  accompanying  me  to  the  coach- 
office,  although  he  was  not  well  on  that  day,  and  he  bade 
me  good-bye  with  a  smile.  A  letter  from  the  godmother 
revealed  what  he  had  felt  when  he  shook  my  hand  at 
the  door  of  the  vehicle.  "  I  was  still  too  happy,"  he  said ; 
"for  at  any  hour  of  the  night  or  day  I  could  tell  my 
troubles  to  a  friend.  Even  this  comfort  had  to  be  taken 
away  from  me." 

I  had  but  come  to  the  first  halting-place  on  my  route, 
when  I  received  this  letter.  I  was  stopping  at  Mire- 
court,  in  the  Vosges,  where  our  good  uncle  Desherbiers 
was  sub-prefect.  The  godmother's  information  made  me 
very  anxious.  I  wrote  to  my  brother,  and  told  him  that, 
if  he  really  needed  me,  I  would  defer  my  Italian  journey 
to  some  other  time,  and  go  back  and  spend  the  winter 
in  Paris.  Alfred  replied  by  the  letter  which  follows, 
and  which  I  copy  in  this  place  to  give  some  idea  of  his 
unselfishness  and  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  of  the  affec- 
tion which  united  us  :  — 

"Thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  my  dear  friend, 
for  your  good  letter.  I  will  begin  by  answering  your  ques- 
tion, conscientiously,  as  you  desire.  Pray  do  not  think  of  me 
otherwise  than  as  a  brother  and  a  friend,  and  forget  entirely 
my  passing  annoyances,  which  are  of  no  account.     I  am  very 

16 


242  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

well  just  now  ;  and  having  no  cause  of  vexation,  whether  real 
or  material,  my  melancholy  is  gone  with  my  fever.  Of  course, 
our  midnight  talks  were  very  precious,  and  you  may  be  sure 
I  shall  never  forget  the  friendship  you  showed  me  in  that  last 
time  of  trial.  You  have  been  both  extremely  kind  and  ex- 
tremely helpful  to  me  ;  but  I  beseech  you  to  set  for^h  on  your 
journey  without  a  single  regret,  or  any  afterthought  capable 
of  troubling  you  for  an  instant. 

"  My  mother  is  come  back,  and  so  is  Mme.  Jaubert.  You 
see  that  I  am  not  alone.  Mme.  de  Lagrange  has  invited  me 
again,  in  the  sweetest  possible  manner. 

"  The  good  captain  charged  me  to  tell  you  that  the  matter 
of  the  correspondence  was  arranged.  Letters  for  you  will  be 
forwarded  hence  to  Mme.  Aubernon,  who  will  send  them  on 
to  you.  You  will  only  need  to  give  the  address,  or  rather  the 
addresses,  of  the  places  where  you  want  them  sent. 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  are  happy  with  our  excellent 
uncle.  Tell  him  that  I  love  him,  and  should  enjoy  just 
as  much  with  him  as  you  do.  Tell  him  that  he  remains  in 
my  memory  as  the  man  of  all  men  for  whom  I  have  most 
sympathy  and  respect. 

"  Farewell.  Do  not  fail  to  write.  Your  letters  will  do  me 
a  great  deal  of  good.     I  embrace  you, 

"  Alfred. 
"Thursday,  Dec.  i,  1842." 


PART     FOURTH. 

From  1843  to  1857, 


XV. 

/'^NE  of  our  sister's  earliest  friends  was  a  young  girl 
^-^  who  had  been  obliged  to  return  to  her  father's 
house  almost  immediately  after  her  marriage.  All  the 
best  society  of  Paris  was  interested  in  the  misfortunes 
of  this  truly  amiable,  discreet,  and  beautiful  woman, 
condemned  at  the  age  of  twenty  to  perpetual  widow- 
hood. Her  residence  under  her  husband's  roof  had 
been  accompanied  by  circumstances  so  strange,  that  the 
question  was  raised  whether  she  ought  not  still  to  be 
regarded  as  unmarried.  Unable  to  regret  a  man  who 
had  spared  no  pains  to  alienate  her  from  him,  she  was 
not  long  in  drying  her  tears  and  resuming  her  wonted 
grace  and  gayety.  We  were  then  living  in  her  neigh- 
borhood.^ She  came  frequently  to  see  her  former  play- 
mate, and  to  relate  to  our  mother  the  lamentable  causes 
of  her  lawsuit.  When  she  went  home  at  nightfall,  al- 
though she  had  not  a  hundred  paces  to  go,  a  servant 
came  for  her.  Two  or  three  times  only  did  Alfred  give 
her  his  arm  to  escort  her  to  her  own  door.  But  they 
were  observed,  and  it  was  enough  to  give  occasion,  not 
for  slander,  but  for  significant  smiles  of  envy  and  malice. 
Alfred  would  not  wait  till  the  smiles  had  been  translated 
into  speech.  He  wrote  the  sonnet,  "  Non,  quand  bien 
meme  une  ambre  Souffrance,"  to   which  I    refer    the 

1  Since  the  month  of  October,  1839,  we  had  lived  on  the  Quai  Voltaire. 


246  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

reader.  Reverence  for  innocence  has  never,  I  think, 
inspired  purer  or  more  perfect  poetry. 

At  his  godmother's,  Alfred  often  met  another  young 
wife,  who  had  been  almost  as  unhappily  married  as  the 
one  I  have  just  mentioned.  Her  husband  had  just  died 
most  opportunely  ;  and  death,  in  the  words  of  Sganarelle, 
adjusts  many  things.  The  year  of  mourning  had  passed, 
and  the  widow  was  taking  off  her  weeds.  One  evening 
when  he  was  sitting  by  her,  Alfred  told  her  that  she  was 
too  young  and  too  beautiful  not  to  marry  again  ;  but 
apparently  marriage  had  left  such  bitter  memories  that 
she  cried  out  at  the  suggestion,  "  Never ! "  speaking 
the  word  with  an  energy  of  horror  which  impressed  the 
poet  greatly.  This  is  the  whole  history  of  the  sonnet 
which  is  entitled  "  Jamais  !  "  The  other  incidents  of  the 
conversation  will  be  found  in  the  lines  themselves.  The 
lady's  reply  was  sincere,  and  her  resolution  perfectly  well 
considered.     She  kept  her  word. 

Under  the  pseudonyme  of  P.  J.  Stahl,  Jules  Hetzel, 
editor  and  author,  had  recently  composed  a  fanciful  tale, 
illustrated  by  a  large  number  of  engravings  by  Tony 
Johannot.  To  insure  the  success  of  this  expensive 
work,  Hetzel  entreated  my  brother  to  contribute  some 
verses,  and  allow  his  name  to  be  associated  with  that  of 
the  prose  author.  At  first,  Alfred  obstinately  refused ; 
but,  among  the  sketches  of  Johannot  which  pleased  him 
very  much,  there  was  a  graceful  figure  of  a  young  girl 
sitting  at  a  piano  and  singing.  The  piece  of  music 
which  was  to  be  interpolated  in  the  text  was  a  lied  of 
Mozart's,  not  yet  published  in  France,  the  refrain  of 
which  was  "  Vergiss  mein  nicht."      Alfred  set  it  up  on 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  247 

his  sister's  piano,  and. when  she  had  sung  it  to  him  he 
liked  it  so  well  that  he  wanted  to  translate  the  words. 
Difficult  as  the  attempt  was  to  adapt  words  to  music 
already  written,  he  succeeded  at  one  sitting.  He  felt  as 
if  he  were  bound  to  do  so.  Johannot's  drawings  also 
inspired  him  with  a  sonnet,  and  the  editor  asked  no 
more.  Marie,  and  the  lied  in  three  couplets,  "  Rapelle- 
toi,"  were  inserted  in  the  "  Voyage  oil  il  vous  plaira," 
and  P.  J.  Stahl  is  responsible  for  the  rest.  What  Alfred 
would  not  have  done  from  interested  motives,  he  fur- 
nished impulsively  under  the  charm  of  Tony  Johannot's 
talent,  and  especially  of  the  genius  of  Mozart.  He 
allowed  his  name  to  be  inscribed  on  the  frontispiece  of 
the  illustrated  volume. 

After  spending  the  winter  in  Naples  and  the  spring  in 
Rome,  I  ft»und  myself  in  the  month  of  July  at  Florence, 
and  there  one  evening  at  Countess  Orlow's,  I  heard 
them  talking  about  some  verses  on  the  death  of  the 
Due  d'OrMans,  which  had  appeared  in  the  French 
papers.  The  daughter  of  Countess  Orlow,  Madame 
Orsini,  quoted  the  two  first  verses  of  the  tribute:  — 

"  La  joie  est  ici-bas  toujours  jeune  et  nouvelle, 
Mais  le  chagrin  n'est  vrai  qu'autant  qu'il  a  vieilli."i 

I  knew  that  my  brother  had  meant  to  wait  for  the 
anniversary  of  the  thirteenth  of  July,  before  paying  his 
meed  of  regret  to  the  prince  whom  he  had  loved,  and 
to  the  Princess  Marie,  whose  coffin  was  still  at  Pisa.  I 
knew  the  mournful  pleasure  which  he  had  promised  him- 
self in  recurring  to  that  almost  forgotten  misfortune,  at 

■  "  Joy  is  ever  new  and  fresh  in  this  world  ;  but  grief  is  genuine  only  in 
proportion  to  its  age." 


248  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

the  risk  of  astonishing  those  who  had  wept  so  loudly  at 
the  time,  but  who  very  probably  might  take  no  heed 
of  the  first  recurrence  of  the  fatal  anniversary.  When  I 
saw  the  effect  produced  by  this  poem  in  a  foreign  land, 
I  never  doubted  that  its  author  would  receive  some 
token  of  remembrance  and  affection  from  the  royal 
family.  I  was  mistaken.  The  king  did  not  even  read 
the  verses  on  the  death  of  his  son  ;  and  it  seems  that  the 
Duchesse  d'Orleans  noticed  only  the  word  concerning 
Laborderie,  one  of  the  school-mates  of  Alfred  and  the 
prince  at  the  college  of  Henry  IV.,  whom  the  poet 
speaks  of  as  the  best  of  us  three.  A  long  while  after  the 
publication  of  the  stanzas  on  the  anniversary  of  the 
"  Treize  Juillet,"  when  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  ig- 
nore such  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
a  messenger  from  the  palace  brought  the  author  a  few 
words  of  very  frigid  and  ceremonious  politeness.  From 
the  constrained  manner  of  the  messenger,  and  the  tone 
in  which  he  inquired  who  Laborderie  was,  Alfred  divined 
that  the  princess  had  been  offended  by  the  too  laudatory 
mention  of  their  old  comrade.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
received  a  letter  in  an  unfamiliar  hand,  in  which  a  lady 
thanked  him,  in  glowing  and  affecting  terms,  for  having 
made  her  brother's  name  immortal.  The  letter  an- 
nounced the  coming  of  a  tea-service  in  Limoges  por- 
celain, some  pieces  of  which  are  still  in  existence.  As 
long  as  the  poet  lived,  the  sister  of  Laborderie  wrote 
him  once  a  year,  and  sent  him  a  truffled  fowl  at  carnival 
time. 

Before  I  went  to  Italy,  I  had  made,  in  company  with  J. 
Hetzel  and  M.  Obeuf,  the  mayor  of  Bellevue,  an  excur- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  249 

sion  to  Pontchartrain,  which  abounded  in  comic  incidents, 
and  the  story  of  which  diverted  my  brother  so  much  that 
he  had  amused  himself  by  turning  it  into  verse.  Hetzel 
repeated  some  parts  of  it  to  Charles  Nodier,  who  re- 
quested the  whole,  and  we  sent  it  to  him.  After  the 
lapse  of  nearly  a  year,  Nodier,  in  a  fit  of  mirthfulness, 
addressed  to  the  author  of  that  burlesque  Odyssey  some 
verses  in  the  same  measure  in  which  it  was  written. 
Alfred  replied,  also  in  the  same  metre.  His  mind  was 
still  full  of  this  pleasantry  when  the  board  of  discipline 
decided  to  punish  with  severity  the  neglect  of  national- 
guard  duty,  and  sentenced  him  to  several  days'  imprison- 
ment. The  culprit  made  interest,  and  obtained  the  room 
numbered  either  11  or  14,  whose  walls  the  artists  who 
had  been  as  lawless  as  himself  had  covered  with  paint- 
ings and  drawings.  The  prisoner  enjoyed  this  dungeon 
immensely ;  and,  by  way  of  leaving  there  a  souvenir  of 
his  own  residence,  he  inscribed  a  few  verses  under  a 
female  figure  which  took  his  fancy ;  and,  when  he  was 
released,  still  pursued  by  the  rhythm  of  his  rustic  Odyssey, 
he  composed  the  "  Mie  Prigioni,"  published  by  the 
"Revue,"  Oct.  i,  1843.  The  copy  containing  these 
lines  fell  into  the  hands  of  M.  le  Comte  Mold,  who, 
attracted  no  doubt  by  the  originality  of  the  title  and  the 
brevity  of  the  piece,  read  it  through,  and  was  so  much 
pleased  with  it  that  he  charged  a  third  person  to  be  the 
bearer  of  his  compliments  to  the  author,  and  to  tell  him 
that  if  ever  he,  M.  MoM,  was  in  the  ministry  again,  he 
would  remember  him.  M.  Mold  was  never  minister 
again  ;  but  he  did  not  forget  "  Mie  Prigioni,"  when  its 
author  paid  him  a  visit  as  candidate  for  the  French 
Academy. 


250  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

When  I  returned  from  Italy  in  November,  1843,  Alfred 
wanted  to  celebrate  the  day,  and  he  took  me  off  to  dine 
at  the  restaurant,  although  dinner  was  ready  for  us  at 
home.  We  had  to  talk  over  that  beloved  Italy  with 
which  I  was  yet  more  in  love  than  he.  My  fresh  recol- 
lections awoke  his  own.  We  talked  all  dinner-time,  and 
in  the  evening,  over  the  fire,  we  talked  on  until  two  hours 
after  midnight.  The  next  day  and  for  many  days,  we 
had  to  recur  to  the  subject.  Venice  in  particular  was  an 
inexhaustible  theme.  But  when  I  spoke  of  Florence, 
and  the  Pitti  museum,  we  always  stopped  at  Allori's 
Judith;  and  I  reminded  my  brother  that  the  strange 
history  of  that  fine  work  and  its  author  had  once  seemed 
to  him  worthy  of  being  related  by  the  pen  which  had 
produced  the  "  Fils  du  Titien." 

It  is  well  known  that  Cristofano  Allori,  when  betrayed 
by  his  mistress,  conceived  the  singular  idea  of  represent- 
ing her  in  the  character  of  Judith,  and  of  giving  the 
bleeding  head  of  Holofernes  his  own  face.  The  evening 
that  we  recurred  to  the  subject,  my  brother's  interest 
in  it  so  revived  that  he  thought  he  would  treat  it  in 
verse.  When  we  separated,  he  continued  to  dream  over 
it  by  himself.  During  the  night,  he  arranged  the  plan  of 
the  work ;  and  the  next  day  a  few  verses  were  already 
put  upon  paper.  Unhappily,  he  had  a  painter  among 
his  friends,  an  accomplished  man  whom  he  often  con- 
sulted. The  artist  was  so  imprudent  as  to  say  that  the 
figure  of  Judith  might  represent  Allori's  mistress ;  but 
that  the  face  of  Holofernes  was  not  a  likeness  of  the 
painter.  He  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  there  was  no 
meaning  in  the  man's  head  at  all.     Alfred  was  annoyed. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  251 

He  felt  personally  injured  by  these  doubts  as  to  the  au- 
thenticity of  Allori's  portrait,  and  the  misunderstanding 
lasted  three  weeks,  —  one  of  his  most  protracted  temper 
fits.  Peace  was  signed  one  evening  when  we  were 
discussing  art ;  but  the  impressionable  poet  was  disen- 
chanted, and  Judith  and  Allori  were  laid  aside.  A  friend, 
quite  innocently  no  doubt,  was  thus  responsible  for  the 
failure  of  what  promised  to  be  a  noble  and  interesting 
work.  It  is  all  the  more  to  be  regretted  because  the 
friend  was  wrong.  The  portrait  of  Cristofano  Allori  by 
himself  in  the  Uffizi  Gallery  has  precisely  the  same  face 
as  the  head  of  Holofernes  in  the  Pitti  palace.^  Here  is  all 
I  have  been  able  to  find  of  the  verses  which  my  brother 
threw  off  when  he  composed  the  plan  of  the  work. 

Choeur  des  Peintres. 
Ni  les  sentiers  battus,  ni  les  regies  antiques, 
O  puissant  cr^ateur,  n'ont  €\.€  faits  pour  toi. 
Libre  comme  les  vents,  la  loi  que  tu  pratiques 
Est  de  vivre  sans  loi. 

Romano. 
Allori,  le  grand-due  forme  une  academic; 
II  t'en  nomme  le  chef.     Les  arts,  en  Italia, 
Meurent  d'une  honteuse  et  miserable  mort. 

\  Allori. 

Mourir  avant  le  temps  est  un  bienfait  du  sort. 
Aliens,  nobles  seigneurs,  entrons  chez  ma  maitresse. 

Le  Choeur. 
Ou  sent,  Cristofano,  les  jours  de  la  jeunesse  ? 
Alors,  on  te  voyait,  autour  les  lourds  arceaux, 

*  I  verified  this  a  second  time  when  I  was  last  in  Florence.    The  num- 
ber of  the  portrait  is  263.  —  P.  M. 


252  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

Sur  les  murs  des  palais  promenant  tes  pinceaux 
Verser  assidument  la  couleur  et  la  vie. 
Te  voilk  pale  et  triste.     Est-ce  la  jalousie 
Qui  t'a  fait,  comma  un  spectre,  errer  toute  la  nuit  ? 
Quel  usage  as-tu  fait  de  ce  jour  qui  s'enfuit  ? 
Prends  garde  au  noir  chagrin  qui  m^ne  k  la  folic. 
II  est  un  sur  remede  k  la  mdlancolie,  — 
Le  travail,  le  travail !     Cesse  done  de  rever: 
La  peinture  se  meurt,  et  tu  peux  la  sauver. 

Allori. 
Elle  est  morte  d'ennui,  de  froid  et  de  vieillesse. 
AUons,  nobles  seigneurs,  entrons  chez  ma  maitresse.* 

There  is  also  in  existence  the  fragment  of  a  scene  in 
which  Allori,  having  obtained  certain  proofs  of  the  un- 
faithfulness of  his  mistress,  confides  to  his  pupil  Romano 
his  jealousy  and  despair.  The  author  doubtless  threw 
his  useless  way-marks  into  the  fire,  and  only  formless 
scraps  of  them  have  clung  to  my  memory. 

'  Chorus  of  pabtters.  Beaten  paths  and  ancient  rules  were  not  made 
for  thee,  O  great  master  !  Thou  art  free  as  air,  and  the  only  law  which 
thou  obeyest  is  to  live  without  law. 

Romano.  Allori,  the  Grand  Duke  is  forming  an  Academy,  and  hath 
appointed  thee  its  master.  Art  in  Italy  is  dying  a  shameful  and  miserable 
death. 

Allori.  Early  death  is  a  boon  of  destiny.  Come,  noble  sirs,  let  us  go 
to  my  mistress. 

Chorus,  Where,  O  Cristofano,  are  the  days  of  thy  youth  ?  Then  we 
were  wont  to  see  thee  among  the  low  arches,  wielding  thy  pencil  over  palace 
walls,  and  lavishly  expending  life  and  color.  Now  thou  art  pale  and  sad. 
Is  it  jealousy  that  makes  thee  wander  like  a  spectre  all  night  long?  What 
hast  thou  done  with  the  day  which  is  flitting  away  so  fast  ?  Beware  of  the 
dark  melancholy  which  tends  to  madness  !  There  is  a  sure  remedy  for  it. 
Work !  work !  Dream  no  more !  Painting  is  at  the  point  of  death,  and 
thou  couldst  save  her ! 

Allori.  She  is  dead  already  of  cold  and  weariness  and  old  age  I  Come, 
noble  sirs,  let  us  go  to  my  mistress  ! 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  253 

Our  discussions  of  Italy  were  kept  up  all  winter.  This 
innocent  pleasure  was  interrupted  by  an  attack  of  pleu- 
risy, which  my  brother  caught  in  the  most  senseless 
manner  possible,  on  a  night-ramble  in  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne when  the  weather  was  fine,  but  the  cold  mortally 
severe.  There  was  the  same  unnecessary  blood-letting 
as  before,  and  it  protracted  his  convalescence.  To 
while  away  the  time,  he  wrote  a  novelette  about  the  loves 
of  two  deaf-mutes  which  appeared  in  the  "  Constitu- 
tionnel."  He  also  composed  some  lines  "To  my  Brother 
on  his  Return  from  Italy,"  and  after  that  he  persisted  in 
silence  in  spite  of  all  manner  of  entreaties  and  offers  of 
the  most  brilliant  description.  His  friends  themselves 
left  off  teasing,  when  they  saw  that  it  annoyed  him.  "  I 
am  curious  to  know,"  he  said  to  me,  "  whether  Petrarch 
had  always  a  dozen  pedagogues  or  policemen  at  his 
heels,  forcing  him  at  the  point  of  the  sword  to  write 
verses  on  Laura's  blue  eyes  when  he  wanted  to  be  quiet. 
This  reproach  of  laziness  is  a  new  invention,  in  which 
one  can  smell  the  age  of  manufacture  a  league  away. 
Why  is  not  M.  de  Cambrai  attacked  for  having  written 
only  one  romance,  ad  usum  Ddphini.  You  deserve, 
every  one  of  you,  that  I  should  set  about  writing  a  Latin 
poem,  as  long  and  as  crude  as  Petrarch's  *  Africa.'  I'd 
like  to  know  just  how  many  of  those  who  call  me  indo- 
lent are  only  repeating  what  they  have  heard  somebody 
else  say,  and  how  many  of  them  never  read  a  verse  in 
their  lives,  and  would  be  at  their  wits'  end  if  they  were 
obliged  to  read  any  thing  beside  the  'Mysteries  of 
Paris.'  The  newspaper-story  is  the  true  literature  of 
our  day." 


254  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

The  deterioration  of  public  taste  was  one  reason  why 
he  preferred  to  keep  silence  ;  but  there  were  others  at 
once  deeper  and  more  dignified,  which  his  modesty  for- 
bade him  fully  to  explain,  even  in  tete-a-tetes  with  me 
or  his  friend  Tattet.  The  lines  "  Sur  la  Paresse  "  con- 
tained but  half  his  thought.  Had  he  completed  his 
poem  of  "Judith,"  this  negligent  and  scornful  mood 
might  perhaps  have  been  illustrated  in  the  character  of 
Allori,  The  poet,  as  was  his  wont,  might  have  endowed 
the  hero  with  his  own  sentiments.  Had  an  occasion  and 
a  pretext  been  given,  he  might  have  formulated  his  prin- 
ciples, his  grievances,  and  the  reasons  of  his  disgust,  in 
the  language  of  the  "  Nuit  de  Mai,"  and  the  heart 
which  he  was  determined  to  keep  shut  would  have 
opened  in  spite  of  himself.  I  therefore  regret  the 
poem  of  "Judith"  on  more  than  one  account. 

There  was  not  an  hour  in  which  this  indolent  man  was 
not  busy.  His  days  were  divided  between  reading  and 
games  of  chess.  He  undertook  to  study  the  treatises 
of  Philidor,  Walker,  &c.  He  had  sometimes  the  honor 
of  being  the  antagonist  of  Labourdonnays,  and  the 
most  famous  members  of  the  chess  club.  Nothing  could 
be  less  like  laziness  than  this  ardent  study,  as  it  were, 
of  an  abstract  science.  But  neither  reading  nor  chess- 
playing  could  wholly  exclude  ennui.  Often  did  Alfred 
complain  of  the  length  of  life,  and  that  time  the  rascal 
did  not  move  a  step.  He  had  withdrawn  from  society, 
and  avoided  his  most  agreeable  companions.  The  god- 
mother herself  saw  him  only  at  long  intervals. 

When  the  notion  took  him  to  break  up  his  usual 
habits  and  go  in  search  of  distraction,  he  went  from  one 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel.  255 

extreme  to  the  other.  He  would  go  ten  nights  in  suc- 
cession to  the  Thditre  Italien,  the  Opdra,  or  the  Opdra 
Comique ;  and  then  some  evening  he  would  come  home, 
satiated  with  music  for  a  long  while.  If  he  joined  a 
pleasure  party,  it  was  in  the  same  excited  frame  of  mind. 
It  was  all  extravagant,  and  often  injurious  to  his  health; 
but,  to  his  dying  day,  he  never  could  be  restrained  by 
reasonable  precautions,  or  any  sort  of  moderate  regime. 
Another  literary  man  who  had  once  seen  him  intoxi- 
cated came  to  me  one  morning  in  the  street,  and,  with- 
out mentioning  the  encounter,  began  to  speak  of  the 
poet's  long  silence  in  a  tone  of  hypocritical  regret,  amid 
which  I  detected  gleams  of  a  satisfaction  which  he  could 
not  wholly  conceal.  Jealousy,  in  so  infinitesimal  a 
writer,  was  laughable.  I  reassured  the  poet's  confrere, 
about  the  faculties  of  the  man  of  whom  he  was  so  dis- 
interestedly fond,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
his  brow  darken  in  proportion  as  his  anxieties  were  re- 
lieved. About  the  same  time,  —  almost  on  that  very  day, 
—  the  godmother,  whom  nothing  escaped,  told  me  that 
she  had  received  similar  expressions  of  condolence.  She 
was  seriously  alarmed  by  them.  "  It  is  evident,"  she  said, 
"  that  if  envy  and  slander  can  put  on  the  appearance  of 
interest  and  compassion,  they  will  be  very  much  more  at 
their  ease.  I  have  already  observed  an  increased  readiness 
to  talk  about  our  poet.  Praise  is  no  longer  grudged 
him  ;  but  people  make  haste  to  add  that  there  is  noth- 
ing more  to  be  expected  from  his  Muse.  If  you  believe 
me,  do  not  let  a  day  pass  before  you  warn  him  of  his 
danger." 

I  replied  that  I  should  have  my  labor  for  my  pains. 


256  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

that  our  poet  despised  prudence,  and  that  I  had  no 
longer  any  influence  with  him  ;  but  that  the  godmother 
herself,  who  was  quite  new  to  the  business,  might  have 
some  effect.  "  Ah,  well !  "  she  said  bravely,  "  I  will 
try." 

She  afterwards  gave  me  a  hint  of  the  tone  she  meant 
to  take,  and  the  arguments  she  would  employ ;  and  what 
she  said  was  marked  by  a  clearness  and  felicity  of  ex- 
pression that  surpassed  my  expectations.  I  came  away 
full  of  hope,  admiring  the  superiority  of  women  to  our- 
selves in  eloquence,  and  even  in  logic,  when  their  feel- 
ings are  moved.  A  note  was  dropped  in  the  post-office 
containing  a  request  that  the  godson  would  come  and 
have  a  talk  with  his  godmother,  who  promised  to  deny 
herself  to  all  other  visitors. 

On  Thursday,  August  13,  1844,  after  dinner,  Alfred 
accepted  the  invitation,  and  they  had  an  interview  which 
lasted  until  midnight.  I  was  absent  just  then,  having 
gone  to  the  Vosges  and  Baden  to  meet  some  friends 
who  took  me  with  them  to  Switzerland,  whence  I  went 
by  way  of  Constance  to  Venice.  Returning  in  the 
month  of  November,  I  asked  the  godmother  about  the 
result  of  her  interview.  "Do  not  speak  of  it,"  she  re- 
plied with  emotion.  "  Our  dear  Damis'  ^  feelings  were 
dreadfully  hurt,  and  so  were  mine.  I  cannot  repeat  what 
he  said.  It  would  be  too  much  for  me.  All  is,  I  was 
beaten  at  every  point.  He  is  a  hundred  times  right. 
His  silence,  his  lassitude,  his  disdain,  are  only  too  fully 
justified.  If  he  would  but  speak  out,  he  would  over- 
whelm those  who  have  presumed  to  censure  and  pity 
1  This  was  one  of  her  pet-names  for  her  godson.  — P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  257 

him,  and  sooner  or  later  his  immense  superiority  will  be 
acknowledged  by  all  the  world.  Let  us  leave  time  to  do 
its  work,  and  not  play  with  fire  ;  for  we  are  mere  children 
in  comparison  with  him.  After  he  left  me,  the  poor  boy 
wrote  a  sonnet  which  he  sent  me  early  the  next  morning, 
and  it  wrung  tears  from  my  eyes.  He  wanted  to  show 
me  what  he  was  capable  of  doing,  —  as  if  I  had  any 
doubts  about  that !  I  keep  these  lines  among  my 
papers,  and  some  day  perhaps  they  will  be  published, 
and  then  that  dreadful  thirteenth  of  August  will  not 
have  been  in  vain." 

I  asked  to  see  the  sonnet ;  but  the  godmother  dreaded 
the  reading  of  it.  She  would  not  fetch  it,  but  spoke  of 
something  else.  Thirteen  years  later,  after  my  brother's 
death,  she  gave  me  the  original.     Here  it  is, — 

*'  A  blockhead's  calumnies  offend  me  not,^ 
Nor  loud  reproach  of  libertine  and  sot 
From  any  base  ofiScious  hypocrite 
Whose  hand  I  clasped  in  faith  but  yesternight. 
The  very  glass  is  worthier  in  my  sight 
Which  brings  brief  ease  amid  my  cruel  lot. 
But  thou,  who  knowest  my  most  hidden  thought 
And  deepest  source  of  sorrow  and  despite, 
Hast  thou  forgot  whom  thou  didst  once  divine  ? 
And  was  it  in  thy  heart  to  wrong  me  so  ? 
Ah,  call  not  sorrow  sin,  old  friend  of  mine  ! 
But  rather  drop  a  tear  of  ruth  divine 
Into  the  cup  where  I  would  drown  my  woe, 
In  memory  of  thy  love  of  long  ago  !  " 

'  Page  300  of  the  original. 


17 


258  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mussel. 


XVI. 

'TPHE  celebrated  Liszt  had  a  pupil  named  Hermann, 
-^  who  afterwards  became  a  member  of  a  religious 
community.  Hermann  often  played  the  piano  in  private 
for  the  benefit  of  two  or  three  friends.  Alfred  admired 
him,  both  as  a  pianist  and  a  composer ;  and,  while  the 
musician  improvised,  the  poet  would  devise  verses 
adapted  to  the  movement  of  the  music.  They  com- 
posed together  in  this  way  three  songs,  — "  Bonjour, 
Suzon  !  "  "  Non,  Suzon,  pas  encore  !  "  and  "  Adieu, 
Suzon  !  "  Another  melody  by  the  same  master,  adapted 
to  Italian  words,  was  afterwards  adopted  by  Steinberg 
for  the  barcarolle,  which  he  sings  in  "Bettine."  One 
day,  in  the  spring  of  1845,  Hermann  disappeared. 
Divine  grace  had  suddenly  touched  his  heart,  and  we 
heard  of  him  later  as  a  barefoot  Carmelite  in  a  convent 
in  the  south  of  France. 

Just  about  the  time  that  this  miraculous  conversion 
took  place,  I  received  from  M.  de  Salvandy,  minister  of 
public  instruction,  a  literary  mission  to  Venice.  The 
archives  of  the  republic  were  to  be  searched  for  docu- 
ments relating  to  the  history  of  France.  My  commis- 
sion was  for  six  months ;  but  I  remained  in  Venice  a 
year.  Our  uncle  Desherbiers  had  held,  for  more  than 
thirty  years,  the  modest  government  office  of  sub-prefect 
of  Mirecourt ;  and  I  proposed  to  my  brother  to  pay  a 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mttsset.  259 

visit  to  this  worthy  uncle.  We  accordingly  left  Paris  for 
Mirecourt  in  company,  in  the  early  days  of  May,  1845 ; 
and  we  stayed  there  six  weeks.  I  then  went  to  Epinal, 
whence  I  repaired  to  Venice  by  way  of  Munich,  Inn- 
spruch,  and  Trent.  Alfred  remained  half  the  summer 
in  the  Vosges,  proceeding  from  Mirecourt  to  Epinal,  and 
from  Epinal  to  Plombieres,  much  feted  by  the  good 
people  of  Lorraine,  and  a  great  favorite  in  the  pleasant 
family  of  the  department  prefect. 

I  had  been  six  months  in  Venice  when,  one  evening 
in  November,  a  clever  Frenchman,  named  M.  de 
Trobriant,  came  up  to  me  on  the  square  of  Saint  Mark, 
and  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  a  "  proverb,"  which  he 
had  just  been  reading  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes." 
"  II  faut  qu'une  porte  soit  ouverte  ou  fermee."  I  made 
haste  to  look  up  the  number  containing  this  proverb,  and 
to  me  who  had  been  so  long  absent  the  picture  of  Pari- 
sian life  which  it  presented  was  delightful.  Moreover,  I 
recognized  the  characters.  That  of  the  count  was  so 
very  like  that  I  seemed  to  see  my  brother  far  away, 
seizing  his  hat  at  every  peal  of  the  bell,  leaving  the  door 
open,  and  unable  to  decide  whether  to  go  or  stay.  I 
should  have  had  more  difficulty  in  identifying  the  lady, 
if  the  title  of  "  marquise  "  had  not  given  me  a  clew ;  but 
I  soon  learned  that  I  had  guessed  correctly.  The  con- 
versation had  taken  place  almost  exactly  as  reported  in 
the  "proverb."  The  termination  only  was  fictitious.  The 
marquise  remained  a  widow,  the  poet  departed,  and  the 
closed  door  was  not  opened  again  until  the  occasion  of 
his  next  visit,  when  they  adopted  a  new  device. 

It  should  be  said,  in  praise  of  the  actor  Bocage,  that 


26o  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

it  was  he  who  first  pushed  to  the  verge  of  achievement 
the  bold  enterprise  of  having  a  piece  of  Alfred  de  Mus- 
set's  played  before  a  paying  public.  Bocage,  the  manager 
of  the  Odeon,  was  positively  determined  to  risk  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  "  Caprice."  Mile.  Naptal  went  so  far 
as  to  learn  the  part  of  Mme.  Lery.  The  author,  mind- 
ful of  the  "  Nuit  Venitienne,"  anticipated  a  second 
failure,  attended  none  of  the  rehearsals,  and  gave  Bocage 
carte  blanche.  I  never  knew  why  this  project  was 
abandoned,  but  probably  on  account  of  some  one  of  the 
thousand  accidents  which  are  always  happening  in  the 
theatre ;  such  as  the  engagement  of  Mile.  Naptal  at 
the  Comedie  Fran^aise,  or  the  offer  of  some  piece  which 
seemed  to  contain  surer  guarantees  of  success  than  the 
"  Caprice."  When  I  returned  from  Venice,  both  mana- 
ger and  author  had  given  up  the  scheme. 

A  piece  of  good  fortune  coming  at  this  time  occa- 
sioned great  joy  in  our  family,  and  a  great  disturbance 
of  our  domestic  arrangements.  Our  sister  was  married 
and  left  home.  She  was  to  live  in  the  provinces,  and 
her  mother  went  with  her  to  superintend  the  beginning  of 
her  housekeeping.  I  stayed  in  Paris  a  while  to  be  com- 
pany for  my  brother,  and  again  we  talked  of  that  be- 
loved Italy  whence  I  had  just  returned  the  second  time. 
After  this,  I  accepted  an  invitation  from  my  sister  to 
visit  her  at  her  own  house ;  and,  while  I  was  away,  a 
young  actress  made  her  dibut  at  the  Gymnase.  Rose 
Cheri  found,  in  the  part  of  Clarissa  Harlowe,^  an  occa- 
sion for  the  display  of  talents  of  which  she  herself  had 

1  This  piece  was  by  M.  Uxio.  Guillard,  now  keeper  of  the  records  at  the 
Com6die  Frangaise.  —  P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  261 

hardly  been  conscious.  Alfred  de  Musset  was  particu- 
larly fond  of  Richardson's  fine  romance,  and  frequently 
read  it  over.  He  was  attracted  by  the  title  of  the  play, 
and  took  such  a  fancy  to  the  actress,  and  such  a  liking 
for  the  piece,  that  he  attended  the  performances  at  the 
Gymnase  for  thirty  successive  nights.  When  I  returned 
from  Anjou,  I  found  him  still  under  the  spell  of  this 
daily  pleasure,  and  almost  as  enthusiastic  about  Rose 
Chdri,  as  he  had  once  been  about  Rachel  and  Pauline 
Garcia.  The  very  night  that  I  came  back  I  had  to  go 
with  him  to  the  Gymnase.  His  artist's  passion  lasted 
as  long  as  the  performances  of  "  Clarissa  Harlowe " 
continued. 

The  winter  of  1847  was  a  sad  one  for  us :  our  apart- 
ment seemed  half  as  large  again  as  formerly.  Of  what 
use  was  it  to  make  jokes  at  table  ?  There  was  no  longer 
any  one  to  laugh  at  them,  and  no  more  music  after  din- 
ner! Those  melodies  from  Mozart,  those  sonatas  of 
Beethoven,  once  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  were  heard  no 
more.  The  very  piano  had  disappeared,  leaving  a  great 
gap  in  the  furniture  of  the  drawing-room.  I  besought 
my  brother  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  winter  by  an 
excursion  to  Anjou  or  some  other  warm  region ;  but  I 
could  not  tear  him  away  from  Paris,  even  though  he 
complained  that  he  knew  every  paving-stone  in  it.  Not 
before  September  could  I  induce  him  to  go ;  but  then 
we  went  together  for  sea-bathing  to  Croisic,  and  after- 
wards to  our  sister's  house,  where  Alfred  was  so  happy 
that  I  fancied  him  fixed  for  a  long  time.  He  stayed  a 
month,  and  that  was  long  for  him  ;  but,  when  he  returned 
to  Paris,  an  incredible  piece  of  news  awaited  him.     The 


262  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

"  Caprice  "  was  to  be  played  at  the  Theatre  Frangais ! 
The  fortunes  of  this  piece  were  truly  strange. 

Mme.  Allan  Desprdaux,  who  had  been  quite  forgotten 
by  the  Parisians,  was  in  high  favor  at  the  court  of  Russia. 
Admitted  to  the  best  society,  she  had  taken  on  the  tone 
and  manners  of  a  great  lady.  One  day  at  Saint  Peters- 
burg, she  was  advised  to  go  and  see  a  piece  which  was 
being  played  at  a  small  theatre,  and  in  which  there  was 
an  admirable  female  part,  which  it  was  thought  might 
suit  her.  They  made  up  a  party  for  the  little  theatre, 
arid  saw  the  piece  plaj'ed  in  Russian ;  and  Mme.  Allan 
Despreaux  was  so  taken  with  it  that  she  wanted  it  trans- 
lated into  French,  in  order  that  she  might  play  it  at  court. 
Now  this  play  was  the  "  Caprice,"  and  it  came  very  near 
being  translated  into  the  language  in  which  it  was  orig- 
inally written.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  would  certainly 
have  ordered  it  to  be  done,  if  a  lady  familiar  with  French 
literature  —  and  there  are  a  good  many  such  in  Russia, 
more  even  than  in  France  —  had  not  apprised  Mme.  Allan 
that  the  Russian  play  which  she  thought  so  meritorious 
was  itself  a  translation.  The  volume  containing  the 
"  Caprice  "  was  common  at  Saint  Petersburg.  A  copy 
was  presented  to  Mme.  Allan ;  and  the  piece  was  played 
before  the  court,  and  found  great  favor. 

Nothing  of  all  this  was  known  at  Paris ;  but  when 
M.  Buloz,  administrator  of  the  Comddie  FranQaise,  was 
treating  with  Mme.  Allan  by  letter  for  a  return  to  the 
French  stage,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  make  her  reap- 
pearance before  the  French  public  in  the  parts  of  Cdli- 
mbne  and  Mme.  de  Lery.  Everybody  at  the  Comedie 
Frangaise,  except  M.  Buloz,  was  amazed  at  this  selection. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Micsset.  263 

Nobody  knew  where  the  little  piece  came  from  ;  but  the 
great  actress,  confident  in  her  experience,  persisted  in 
her  resolve.  When  he  came  back  to  Paris  in  October, 
Alfred  de  Musset  found  the  arrangements  far  advanced. 
During  one  of  the  rehearsals  of  the  "  Caprice,"  he  heard, 
from  the  side-scenes  where  he  was,  M.  Samson,  who 
was  hidden  among  the  shadows  of  the  orchestra,  calling 
out  in  a  highly  scandalized  tone,  — "  Rebonsoir,  my 
dear  ?    What  language  is  that,  pray  ? " 

This  would  seem  to  prove  that,  in  1847,  there  was 
still  some  doubt  at  the  Comddie  Frangaise  whether  the 
author  of  the  "  Caprice "  wrote  in  a  style  which  one 
might  adopt  without  compromising  himself  in  the  house 
of  the  correct  and  brilliant  M.  Scribe !  However,  the 
piece  was  brought  out  on  the  27th  of  November,  and 
then  uncertainty  ceased.  The  success  of  the  "  Caprice  " 
was  an  important  dramatic  event,  and  the  extraordinary 
popularity  of  that  little  play  did  more  for  the  author 
than  all  his  other  works  had  done.  In  the  course  of  a 
few  days,  the  name  of  Alfred  de  Musset  had  penetrated 
to  those  middle  classes  of  the  public  whom  books  and 
poetry  never  reach.  The  sort  of  interdict  which  had 
weighed  upon  him  was  removed  as  if  by  enchantment, 
and  not  a  day  passed  without  the  quotation  of  some  of 
his  verses. 

When  the  thunderbolt  of  Feb.  24,  1848,  fell  upon  us, 
Alfred  de  Musset  saw  with  regret  the  departure  of  a 
royal  family  in  which  he  had  had  a  friend.  The  Revo- 
lution was  destined  to  affect  him  no  less  than  many 
others,  but  in  a  wholly  unexpected  way.  The  new  min- 
ister of  the  interior  held,  it  was  said,  a  sort  of  private 


264  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

nocturnal  council,  where  were  elaborated  those  "repub- 
lican bulletins  "  which  were  read  by  the  population  of 
Paris  with  amazement,  and  often  with  affright.  When 
he  saw  among  the  names  of  the  privy  councillors  that  of 
a  person  who  had  no  decent  pretext  for  wishing  him  any 
thing  but  good,  my  brother  thought  that  he  might  per- 
haps keep  his  librarian's  place ;  but  he  was  mistaken. 
One  of  M.  Ledru  Rollin's  first  acts  was  the  removal  of 
Alfred  de  Musset.  One  journal  cried  out  against  this 
proceeding ;  another  denied  the  fact.  Alfred  then  pub- 
lished the  letter  of  dismissal  which  he  had  received.  It 
was  couched  in  terms  of  brutal  brevity,  and  signed  by  a 
certain  secretary-general  named  Cartaret.  I  was  at  that 
time  contributing  some  literary  articles  to  the  "  National," 
which  was  just  then  enjoying  a  popularity  for. which  it 
was  unprepared  by  its  twenty  years'  life  as  an  organ  of 
the  opposition.  I  requested  one  of  my  friends  on  the 
"  National  "  to  speak  to  the  minister  of  the  interior ;  and 
he  did  so,  but  without  effect. 

Although  he  owed  little  to  that  Revolution  which 
took  away  the  surest  part  of  his  income,  Alfred  could 
not  refrain  from  admiring,  in  one  of  its  most  sudden  and 
energetic  manifestations,  that  French  nation  —  so  full  of 
life,  elasticity,  and  unexpected  resources  —  of  which  M. 
de  Tocqueville  has  said  that  it  is  capable  of  inspiring 
strong  love  or  strong  hatred,  but  never  indifference.  Dur- 
ing the  sorrowful  days  of  June,  when  blood  ran  in  the 
streets,  Alfred  exposed  himself  freely,  and  spent  several 
nights  in  bivouac.  Amid  the  episodes  of  our  civil  war, 
the  course  of  his  dramatic  triumphs  was  uninterrupted. 
As  a  sequel  to   the   "Caprice,"  the  Theatre  Frangais 


Biography  of  Alfred  dc  Musset.  265 

wanted  to  bring  out  the  "  proverb,"  "  II  faut  qu'une  porte 
soit  ouverte  ou  ferm^e,"  and  the  comedy  in  three  acts,  "  II 
ne  faut  jurer  de  rien,"  out  of  which  MM.  Provost,  Brin- 
deau.  Got,  and  Mmes.  Mante  and  Luther,  constructed  a 
perfect  gem.  This  last  piece  was  played  for  the  first 
time  on  the  twenty-second  of  June,  1848,  at  the  very  hour 
when  a  formidable  insurrection  was  piling  barricades  all 
around.  The  Theatre  Historique  gave  several  represen- 
tations of  the  "  Chandelier,"  which  afterwards  went  back 
to  the  Comddie  Frangaise.  Rachel  asked  the  author 
for  a  part,  and  Mile.  Augustine  Brohan  displayed  her 
wit  and  her  coquetries  for  the  same  end.  After  an 
extremely  sprightly  correspondence  with  the  poet,  the 
queen  of  soubrettes  obtained  a  half  promise.  Alfred 
wrote  "Louison;"  but  some  sort  of  misunderstanding 
occurred,  the  true  story  of  which  I  never  knew;  and  the 
part  was  given  to  Mile.  Anais,  and  lost  nothing  by  the 
transfer. 

On  the  third  of  May,  1849,  ^  musical  and  dramatic 
matinde  was  given  in  Pleyel's  rooms  for  the  benefit  of 
the  poor.  Mile.  Rachel,  Mme.  Viardot,  Mme.  Allan, 
and  MM.  Roger,  Got,  and  Regnier,  lent  their  assist- 
ance ;  and  Alfred,  who  had  been  informed  of  the  plan 
some  time  before,  wrote  a  "proverb"  for  the  occasion, 
entitled  "On  ne  saurait  penser  k  tout,"  the  insertion  of 
which  in  the  programme  proved  an  attraction  to  a  great 
many  persons.  The  majority  of  the  spectators  were 
pretty  young  ladies  in  spring  toilets,  and  the  author  met 
once  more  what  he  used  to  call  his  public  of  "  little  pink 
noses."  The  "proverb"  succeeded  so  far  as  to  cause  a 
great  deal  of  laughter ;  but,  when  it  came  to  be  produced 


266  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  the  audience  of  the  Rue  Roche- 
chouart  was  no  longer  the  majority,  the  Monday  papers 
were  hostile,  and  the  piece  was  played  only  ten  or 
twelve  times.  The  "  Chandelier  "  was  welcomed  with  a 
degree  of  favor  which  repaired  this  slight  reverse,  not- 
withstanding it  was  criticised  as  immoral.  All  Paris 
went  to  see  it ;  and,  when  M.  Leon  Faucher  undertook 
to  have  it  suppressed  after  forty  performances,  the  author 
was  so  much  disturbed  that  he  composed  a  moral  end- 
ing in  order  to  satisfy  the  minister.  In  this  new  version, 
Fortunio  went  to  the  wars  with  Clavaroche,  while  Jacque- 
line came  under  her  old  man's  rod  once  more.  But  this 
alteration  did  not  satisfy  the  conscience  of  M.  Ldon 
Faucher,  who  would  hear  nothing  of  it. 

In  the  beginning  of  1850,  our  household  was  broken 
up.  Our  mother,  attracted  by  her  daughter  to  Anjou, 
gave  up  her  large  apartment;  and  we  had  to  separate. 
It  was  a  cruel  moment  for  us  both,  for  until  then  we  had 
always  lived  at  home.  Alfred  took  lodgings  at  first  in 
the  Rue  Rumfort ;  but  he  found  himself  too  far  away 
from  me,  and  soon  came  to  live  in  the  Rue  Mont  Thabor, 
I  having  taken  a  suite  in  the  Rue  des  Pyramides.  Our 
mother  had  found  him  a  housekeeper  capable  of  at- 
tending him  with  a  devotion  almost  equal  to  that  of 
Sister  Marcelline,  whom  he  regretted  so  much  in  times 
of  illness.  The  zeal  and  good  sense  of  Mile.  Colin 
spared  my  brother  many  anxieties,  and  insured  him  the 
care  which  his  health  required.  Naturally  disposed  to 
anxiety,  it  alarmed  him  to  feel  that  he  had  only  himself 
to  rely  on  for  all  the  exigencies  of  life ;  but,  when  the 
first  moment  was  over,  he  faced  the  new  situation  with 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  267 

firmness  and  courage.  That  terrible  phantom  of  neces- 
sity from  which  he  had  shrunk  at  the  age  of  thirty,  he 
found  himself  prepared  to  confront  by  those  political 
catastrophes  which  had  smitten  sorely  many  lives  beside 
his  own.  He  had  done  nothing  since  1847,  save  passively 
to  watch  the  second  career  opened  by  the  theatre  to  the 
productions  of  his  youth ;  but,  at  the  age  of  forty,  his 
taste  for  work  suddenly  revived. 

That  nothing  may  be  omitted  in  my  account  of  his 
latest  works,  I  will  now  go  back  a  few  years,  and  relate 
one  of  those  trifling  incidents  which  it  pleased  him,  with 
his  poetic  imagination,  to  regard  as  fiats  of  destiny. 

One  day  in  April,  1846,  Rachel  had  invited  him  to 
dine  with  her.  The  other  guests  were  men  of  fashion, 
and  all  very  rich.  During  the  dinner,  the  left-hand 
neighbor  of  the  hostess  remarked  upon  a  very  beautiful 
ring  which  she  wore.  The  ring  was  generally  admired, 
the  skill  of  the  goldsmith  eulogized,  and  every  guest 
in  turn  paid  some  compliment  to  the  precious  jewel. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Rachel,  "  since  this  work  of  art  has 
the  honor  to  please  you,  I  will  put  it  up  at  auction.  How 
much  am  I  offered  ? " 

One  of  the  guests  made  a  bid  of  five  hundred  francs, 
another  of  a  thousand,  another  of  fifteen  hundred.  In 
a  moment,  the  ring  was  run  up  to  three  thousand  francs. 

"  And  you,  my  poet,"  said  Rachel,  "  are  you  not  going 
to  bid  ?     How  much  will  you  give  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  give  you  my  heart,"  replied  Alfred. 

"  The  ring  is  yours." 

And  with  the  impulsiveness  of  a  child,  Rachel  actually 
drew  off  her  ring  and  flung  it  into  the  poet's  plate.   When 


268  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

they  rose  from  the  table,  Alfred,  who  thought  that  the 
joke  had  gone  far  enough,  wanted  to  give  back  the  ring  ; 
but  Rachel  refused  to  take  it.  "By  Jupiter,"  she  said, 
"  I  was  entirely  in  earnest.  You  gave  me  your  heart, 
and  I  would  not  give  it  back  for  a  hundred  thousand 
crowns.  The  bargain  is  closed,  and  there  is  nothing 
more  to  be  said  about  it." 

However,  despite  her  resistance,  Alfred  took  her  hand 
gently,  and  slipped  the  ring  upon  her  finger.  Rachel 
then  drew  it  off  again,  and  held  it  out  to  him  with  a 
supplicating  and  theatrical  gesture.  "  Dear  poet,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  of  genuine  emotion,  "you  would  not  dare 
refuse  this  little  present,  if  I  should  offer  it  to  you  on 
the  morrow  of  the  day  when  I  shall  play  the  famous 
part  which  you  are  going  to  write  for  me,  and  which  I 
have  been  expecting  all  my  life.  Keep  the  ring,  I  be- 
seech you,  as  a  pledge  of  the  promise  you  have  made. 
Whenever,  either  owing  to  my  fault  or  otherwise,  you 
renounce  for  good  and  all  the  idea  of  writing  the  part  I 
have  desired  so  much,  then  bring  me  the  ring,  and  I 
will  take  it  back." 

As  she  said  this,  she  bent  her  knee,  and  displayed  all 
the  enchanting  grace  which  nature  gave  her  as  an  aux- 
iliary of  her  genius.  Of  course,  the  ring  had  to  be 
accepted  on  the  conditions  which  she  proposed.  The 
poet  came  home,  a  good  deal  touched  by  the  incident, 
well  disposed  and  fully  resolved  this  time  to  profit  by 
the  occasion.  A  few  days  after  the  scene  which  I  have 
described,  Rachel  went  to  England.  She  had  promised 
faithfully  to  write  to  her  poet,  but  she  did  not  keep  her 
word  j  and  Alfred,  who  knew  by  experience  the  fitful 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  269 

humor  of  the  great  tragedienne,  augured  ill  of  her 
silence.  It  was  just  then  that  Rose  Ch^ri  was  playing 
"  Clarissa  Harlowe  "  so  successfully.  Alfred  had  not 
hesitated  to  say  before  Rachel  all  the  good  which  he 
thought  of  the  young  actress  at  the  Gymnase,  and  prob- 
ably Rachel  thought  that  she  discovered  a  purpose  in- 
jurious to  herself  in  the  praise  thus  lavished  upon 
another.  At  all  events,  without  a  word  of  explanation, 
she  assumed  toward  the  poet  a  harsh  and  scornful 
demeanor,  to  which  he  only  replied  by  returning  the 
valuable  ring,  which  she  appeared  to  have  forgotten. 
She  put  it  on  again  without  a  word  of  remonstrance. 

Four  years  later,  in  March  or  April,  185 1,  Rachel 
gave  a  ceremonious  dinner  at  the  hotel  which  she  had 
built  on  the  Rue  Trudon.  Alfred  was  invited,  and  the 
mistress  of  the  house  took  his  arm  when  they  were  going 
in  to  dinner.  Alfred  trod  on  Rachel's  gown,  who  said 
with  her  grand  air, — 

"When  one  gives  a  lady  his  arm,  one  should  take 
care  where  he  puts  his  feet." 

"When  one  becomes  a  princess,"  replied  the  poet, 
"  and  builds  a  hotel,  one  should  order  of  one's  architect 
a  broader  staircase." 

The  evening  began  unfortunately;  but  after  dinner 
there  was  a  reconciliation.  Alfred  made  a  smiling  allu- 
sion to  the  time  when  he  had  supped  with  Roxana  and 
the  covers  were  tin,  and  Rachel  was  amused  by  the 
reminiscence. 

"  Perhaps  you  think,"  she  said,  "  when  you  see  all  my 
luxury  and  my  splendid  silver-plate,  that  I  am  not  as 
amiable  as  I  used  to  be ;  but  I  can  prove  the  contrary." 


2/0  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

"  How  so  ? "  demanded  Alfred. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  you,  and  entreat  you  once  more  to 
write  me  something." 

And  in  fact  she  did  come  the  next  day,  and  talked 
theatre  for  an  hour.  During  the  days  which  followed, 
she  came  several  times,  and  at  last  obtained  the  promise 
of  a  part.  But  Alfred  was  a  little  suspicious  of  that 
fickleness  of  mind  of  which  Rachel  had  already  given 
him  so  many  proofs.  He  dallied.  The  time  of  leave- 
takings  arrived,  and  Rachel  once  more  left  for  England. 

A  new  actress,  then  in  the  flower  of  her  youth  and 
beauty,  had  lately  made  her  debut  at  the  Com^die 
Fran9aise.  She  asked  for  parts,  and  did  so  with  the  full 
intention  of  playing  them.  .  Alfred  turned  his  thoughts 
in  that  direction,  and  arranged  for  the  stage  the  "  Caprices 
de  Marianne."  Madeline  Brohan  gratefully  accepted  the 
part  of  Marianne,  which  Rachel  might  have  taken  if 
she  had  understood  her  true  interests.  But  in  185 1,  in 
the  midst  of  her  success,  Rachel  wrote  from  London  to 
her  author  a  pressing  letter,  to  remind  him  of  his  engage- 
ment. Then,  when  she  returned  to  Paris,  she  learned 
that  he  had  lately  written  for  Rose  Cheri  the  part  of 
Bettine,  of  which  more  anon  ;  and  it  may  be  that  a 
touch  of  jealousy  was  blended  with  her  fresh  importu- 
nities for  the  promised  role.  Alfred,  moved  by  her 
constancy,  now  arranged  the  plan  of  an  entirely  new 
drama  in  five  acts,  the  scene  of  which  was  to  be  laid  in 
Venice  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

In  the  midst  of  these  negotiations,  "  Bettine "  was 
played  with  but  moderate  success ;  and  the  ardor  of 
Rachel  seemed  suddenly  to  cool.     Alfred  de  Musset, 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  2ji 

offended  by  the  silence  which  she  maintained  toward 
him,  put  the  unfinished  work  away  among  his  waste 
papers,  with  the  remark,  — 

"  Adieu,  Rachel !  It  is  yourself  whom  I  have  buried 
for  ever  in  this  drawer."  ^ 

All  was  indeed  over  between  Rachel  and  him ;  and  we 
shall  have  nothing  more  to  say  of  that  highly  gifted 
actress  whom  nature  seemed  to  have  created  and  sent 
into  the  world  to  act  in  concert  with  the  author  of 
"  Lorenzaccio,"  but  who  could  never  keep  on  good 
terms  with  him  long  enough  for  him  to  complete  an  act- 
ing play.  No  doubt  Alfred  de  Musset  was  quite  as 
much  to  blame  as  she.  He  ought  to  have  laughed  at 
her  humors,  and  pushed  his  work  forward  to  its  comple- 
tion, thus  attaining  the  lucrative  end  of  public  represen- 
tation in  spite  of  temporary  obstacles.  Many  others 
have  given  him  the  example;  but  the  others  were  not 
poets,  and  we  must  take  poets  as  we  find  them. 

To  return  to  "  Bettine."  Alfred  remembered  Mme. 
Rose  Cheri,  and  the  pleasure  which  he  had  taken  six 
months  before  in  the  performances  of  "  Clarissa  Har- 
lowe."  The  part  of  Bettine,  which  he  wrote  expressly 
for  her,  she  accepted  with  delight ;  nor  have  I  ever  yet 
understood  why  the  piece  should  have  been  coldly  re- 
ceived by  the  audience  at  the  Gymnase  Dramatique. 
It  was  played  only  twenty  or  thirty  times,  a  very  small 
number  for  a  genre  theatre.  And  yet  I  consider  it  one 
of  the  most  perfect  productions  of  the  pen  which  wrote 

'  The  reader  can  judge  from  the  fragment  of  "  Faustine,"  published 
among  his  posthumous  works,  how  much  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  piece 
was  never  finished.  —  P.  M. 


2/2  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

the  "  Caprice ;"  and,  if  it  did  not  obtain  the  success  which 
it  deserved,  I  think  it  can  only  have  been  by  reason  of 
that  very  perfection.  It  was  owing  to  the  poetical 
quality  of  a  style  unfamiliar  to  the  ears  of  that  public, 
to  the  ripeness  of  the  author's  genius,  and  his  profound 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart.  The  bewildered  spec- 
tators listened  with  extreme  attention,  but  the  beauties 
of  the  work  were  above  their  comprehension.  The  last 
word  has  not  yet  been  said  about  "  Bettine,"  and  some 
time  or  other  the  world  will  recur  to  it.-' 

The  story  of  Rachel's  vagaries  and  the  resentment  of 
our  poet  has  carried  me  farther  on  than  I  intended.  I 
must  go  back  a  year  and  speak  of  a  little  masterpiece, 
for  which  we  are  chiefly  indebted  to  the  ingenious  insist- 
ence of  M.  V^ron,  and  also,  perhaps,  to  Alfred  de  Mus- 
sel's own  indignation  at  the  sort  of  criticism  which  had 
been  bestowed  on  "  Louison "  and  "  On  ne  saurait 
penser  \  tout."  In  1850,  notwithstanding  his  desire  to 
remain  faithful  to  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  Alfred 
had  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  M.  Veron,  who  opened 
to  him  the  columns  of  the  "  Constitutionnel "  on  most 
advantageous  terms.  "  Carmoisine  "  came  out  in  the 
latter  journal ;  and  it  is  assuredly  one  of  Alfred  de 
Musset's  finest  works,  —  to  my  mind,  indeed,  the  deepest 
and  most  moving  of  them  all.  When  I  read  the  passage 
in  which  Carmoisine  confides  her  hopeless  love  to  the 
jester  Minuccio,  it  seems  to  me  as  though  the  scene 
had  been  sketched  by  the  hand  of  Gothe  or  Shakspeare. 

1  There  is  a  letter  of  Mme.  Allan  Despr&ux  inserted  in  the  notes  to 
the  large  edition,  which  shows  that  this  actress,  who  was  very  clever  and  had 
excellent  taste,  was  particularly  fond  of  "  Bettine."  She  would  have  played 
the  part  herself  if  she  had  not  been  too  old,  and  already  ill.  —  P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  273 

But  we  will  leave  to  others  the  appreciation  of  this 
poetic  work. 

M.  V^ron  had  absolute  confidence  in  the  powers  of 
Alfred  de  Musset.  Without  knowing  how  much  the 
MS.  of  "  Carmoisine "  would  prove  to  be  worth,  he 
agreed  in  advance  to  pay  a  thousand  francs  an  act,  and 
to  leave  the  author  at  liberty  to  write  three  or  five,  as 
he  might  think  fit.  Alfred,  incapable  of  adding  an  act 
to  a  piece  which,  in  his  own  opinion,  required  only  three, 
felt  that  his  work  would  be  well  paid  on  the  prescribed 
conditions;  but  M.  Veron  was  so  charmed  with  the 
piece  when  he  came  to  read  it,  that  he  wanted  to  pay  for 
it  as  i£  it  had  had  five  acts.  The  author  refused  to  accept 
so  large  a  sum,  and  in  the  end  they  halved  the  differ- 
ence. I  mention  this  circumstance,  because  it  affords  a 
glimpse  of  two  sufficiently  rare  characters,  —  a  generous 
publisher  and  a  disinterested  author. 

Alfred  de  Musset  had  fancied  himself  too  lightly 
esteemed  by  the  classicists  of  the  French  Academy  to 
aspire  to  become  one  of  their  number ;  but,  encouraged 
by  M.  Merim^e,  he  decided  to  make  the  application, 
and  the  Academy  did  itself  honor  when  it  opened  its 
arms  to  the  poet  of  youth.  He  might  have  done  with- 
out the  Academy;  but  if,  after  his  name  had  been  pro- 
posed, he  had  been  allowed  to  die  before  the  doors  of 
the  Institute  were  opened  to  him,  the  Academy  would 
have  repented  it,  and  public  opinion  would  have  con- 
demned its  course.  The  author  of  the  "  Nuits  "  cared 
more  than  I  should  have  expected  for  this  mark  of  dis- 
tinction, which  he  regarded  as  an  indispensable  conse- 
cration of  his  talent.     On  the  day  when  he  pronounced 

18 


2/4  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

the  eulogy  on  M.  Dupaty,  to  whose  chair  he  succeeded, 
I  heard,  among  the  elegant  audience  of  "little  pink 
noses,"  murmurs  of  amazement  and  approbation  at  the 
blonde  locks  and  youthful  air  of  the  candidate.  He 
might  have  been  taken  for  thirty. 

His  election  was  attended  with  some  difficulty.  Among 
the  grave  personages  by  whom  he  was  surrounded  on 
that  day,  not  more  than  a  dozen  knew  his  works  at  all, 
and  these  were  acquainted  with  some  few  pages  only. 

M.  de  Lamartine  himself  publicly  proclaimed  that  he 
had  never  read  them.  Others  condemned  them  out  of 
hand  without  wanting  to  know  more.  On  the  eve  of  the 
ballot,  M.  Ancelot,  who  was  particularly  fond  of  the  can- 
didate and  resolved  to  give  him  his  vote,  said,  in  the 
garden  of  the  Palais  Royal,  to  the  publisher  Charpentier, 
"  Poor  Alfred  is  a  lovable  fellow  and  a  charming  man 
of  society  j  but,  between  ourselves,  he  never  did  know 
how  to  make  verses,  and  he  never  will." 

M.  Fortoul  was  then  minister  of  public  instruction. 
He  wanted  to  testify  in  some  way  his  good-will  towards 
our  poet,  and  accordingly  he  paid  him  a  great  deal  of 
attention,  and  repeatedly  asked  him  to  dinner  almost 
en  famille}  One  evening  the  minister  said  he  would 
like  to  give  him  a  subject  for  a  poem.  Alfred  never 
enjoyed  working  to  order.  His  independent  Muse  did 
not  readily  obey  the  behests  of  any  one,  and  the  even- 
ing that  this  proposal  was  made  he  came  home  con- 
siderably alarmed.  But  M.  Fortoul's  kindness  had 
touched  his  heart,  and  he  consented  to  consider  the 

'  M.  Fortoul  was  one  of  the  editors  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes," 
and  very  fond  of  people  of  talent.  —  P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  275 

various  themes  which  had  been  suggested,  and  among 
which  he  was  to  be  allowed  freedom  of  choice.  One  of 
them  struck  him  agreeably,  and  without  making  any 
definite  promise  he  put  in  his  pocket  a  sort  of  pros- 
pectus, and  said  he  would  think  it  over,  and  send  a 
prompt  answer  if  he  decided  to  treat  the  subject.  The 
next  time  he  came,  he  brought  his  poem  almost  complete. 
It  was  the  "  Songe  d'Auguste."  The  minister  was  so 
gratified  that  he  was  bent  on  a  solemn  representation  of 
the  piece  at  some  court  festival.  Charles  Gounod  com- 
posed music  for  the  choruses,  the  best  artists  were  to 
be  selected  from  all  the  theatres,  and  the  parts  of 
Octavia  and  Augustus  were  already  assigned  to  Rachel 
and  M.  Bressant. 

But  vague  murmurs  of  disapprobation  suddenly  arose, 
and  a  bucket  of  ice  was  thrown  upon  the  flame.  The 
minister  himself  seemed  afraid  that  he  had  been  impru- 
dent, and. said  no  more  of  the  proposed  performance. 
The  next  year  the  Eastern  war  broke  out.  Now  the 
most  important  scene  in  the  poem  was  a  dialogue  be- 
tween Livia  and  Octavia,  concerning  peace  and  war, 
and  the  author  had  naturally  concluded  in  favor  of 
peace.  After  the  bombardment  of  Sinope,  the  "Songe 
d'Auguste  "  was  out  of  date ;  and  by  the  time  that  peace 
was  concluded,  two  years  later,  oblivion  had  swept  over 
the  whole  thing.  Moreover,  M.  Fortoul,  who  alone  had 
been  interested  in  the  \york,  died  suddenly,  although 
not  before  he  had  repaired  the  wrong  which  M.  Ledru 
RoUin  had  done  the  author.  The  following  is  the  letter 
which  he  wrote  to  Alfred  de  Musset,  after  reading  the 
"Songe  d'Auguste." 


2/6  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

"  I  have  the  pleasure,  my  dear  sir,  of  informing  you  that 
you  have  been  appointed  librarian  of  the  department  of  public 
instruction.  This  office,  which  you  have  never  sohcited,  but 
which  I  have  long  wished  to  confer  upon  you,  has  been 
rendered  vacant  by  a  removal  which  disturbs  no  position 
already  acquired.  I  esteem  myself  infinitely  happy  to  be  able 
partially  to  repair  the  wrong  done  you  by  our  now  forgotten 
misunderstanding.  I  only  regret  that  I  have  so  little  to  offer 
one  whose  talent  reflects  the  utmost  lustre  upon  the  literature 
of  our  time. 

Believe  me  your  most  devoted, 

H.    FORTOUL.* 

I  have  already  had  occasion  to  offer  proofs  of  the  fact 
that  poets  have,  at  odd  moments,  a  sort  of  second  sight. 
Precisely  because  they  are  not  usually  occupied  with 
public  affairs,  when  a  political  event  does  stir  them,  and 
cause  them  to  reflect,  they  understand  better  than  the 
vulgar  its  range  and  signification.  If  inanimate  objects 
are  to  them  voiceless  thoughts,  if  they  are  searching 
for  eternal  truth  even  when  they  look  upon  a  blade  of 
grass,  they  have  also  their  hours  of  meditation  upon 
the  actions  of  men  and  the  needs  of  nations.  When 
they  express  what  they  feel,  they  show  us  what  we  are 

'  M.  Fortoul's  regard  for  Alfred  de  Musset  dated  a  long  way  back.  In- 
contestable proof  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  " 
for  Sept.  I,  .1834.  This  number  contains  an  article  very  laudatory  of  the 
"  Spectacle  dans  un  Fauteuil."  The  author  of  this  article,  which  is  now 
very  curious  reading,  is  comparing,  apropos  of  "  Lorenzaccio,"  the  Floren- 
tine republicans  of  1536  with  the  French  of  1830.  "  These  merchants,"  he 
says,  "let  themselves  be  tricked  out  of  their  Republic,  almost  as  foolishly  as 
we  have  done  ourselves."  Farther  on,  M.  Fortoul  congratulates  the  author 
of  "  Lorenzaccio  "  on  having  fathomed  "  the  plebeian  desires  which  inflame 
us."  It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  minister  of  public  instruction  under  the 
second  empire  had  not  always  been  in  favor  of  a  perpetual  dictatorship. 
—  P.  M. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  277 

capable  of  feeling  without  being  able  to  express  it. 
When  they  take  the  trouble  to  look,  they  see  things 
which  our  eyes  do  not  distinguish. 

The  moment  that  Alfred  de  Musset  learned  that  a 
Piedmontese  army  corps  had  been  sent  to  the  Crimea,  he 
drew  a  host  of  conclusions,  which  led  him  almost  imme- 
diately to  the  prevision  of  a  radical  change  in  the  desti- 
nies of  Italy.  I  told  him  that  he  was  going  too  fast, 
and  that  Austria  would  never  consent  to  a  rearrange- 
ment of  the  map  of  Europe  which  would  involve  the 
loss  of  some  of  her  wealthiest  provinces.  "  Justice,"  he 
replied,  "is  not  as  difficult  as  it  is  supposed  to  be.  We 
cannot  keep  the  branches  of  the  tree  of  life  from  bud- 
ding ;  and  there  is  a  people  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tains which  is  determined  to  live.  Egotists  think  that 
the  world  was  made  for  them,  and  smile  at  the  sufferings 
of  a  great  nation ;  but  we  ought  rather  to  smile  at  their 
political  schemes.  Intelligence  and  freedom  go  hand  in 
hand.  It  may  be  that  the  liberty  which  we  have  looked 
for  so  long  is  not  far  off,  for  it  travels  by  ways  which  we 
know  not." 

Probably  there  was  no  connection  whatever  between 
the  arrival  of  Mme.  Ristori  at  Paris  and  the  secret 
schemes  of  M.  Cavour ;  but  Alfred  de  Musset  liked  to 
look  upon  the  visit  of  that  great  artist  as  presaging  the 
intimate  union  thenceforth  to  subsist  between  France  and 
Italy.  His  attendance  on  the  performance  of  "  Mirra  " 
and  "  Marie  Stuart"  was  so  constant  that  he  never  missed 
one  unless  he  were  absolutely  ill  in  bed.  The  bust  of 
Mme.  Ristori  by  the  Italian  sculptor  Lanzirotti  was 
placed  in  his  little  museum,  on  a  tall  pedestal  con- 


278  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

structed  for  the  purpose  ;  and  he  liked  to  play  upon  the 
name  by  calling  the  noble  figure  the  "  Italia  ristorata," 
Poetry  also  was  to  have  been  invoked  to  pay  tribute  to 
the  great  foreign  tragedienne ;  and  Alfred  began  some 
verses,  which  unfortunately  he  never  even  committed  to 
paper. "  Illness  prevented  him  from  completing  them.^ 
The  performances  of  "Mirra"were  destined  to  be  his 
last  pleasure,  and  admiration  for  Ristori  his  last  en- 
thusiasm. 

1  The  irregular  fragment  of  these  stanzas  which  M.  Paul  de  Musset 
quotes  from  memory  cannot  well  be  translated,  and  seems  hardly  worthy  even 
of  transcription.  —  Tr. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  279 


XVII. 

nr^HE  health  of  Alfred  de  Musset  had  seemed  for 
■*■  a  long  time  to  be  declining.  The  organic  affec- 
tion whose  first  symptoms  I  had  observed  in  1842,  and 
which  had  developed  stealthily,  made  rapid  progress  dur- 
ing the  winter  of  1856.  I  do  not  know  why  the  physi- 
cian, who  understood  the  nature  of  it  perfectly,  should 
have  thought  fit  to  keep  it  a  secret.  It  was  an  affection 
of  the  valves  of  the  aorta.  I  began  to  observe  the  well- 
known  indications  of  heart  disease ;  but  these  alarming 
symptoms  would  sometimes  disappear  altogether,  and 
give  place  to  that  air  of  health  and  vigor  which  we  asso- 
ciate with  his  age.  He  would  never  submit  to  any  cura- 
tive treatment,  except  when  he  was  confined  to  his  bed ; 
and,  therefore,  I  took  the  paroxysms  of  his  malady  for 
so  many  fresh  accidents.  One  day  I  found  him  stretched 
in  a  chaise  tongue  which  he  had  recently  bought ;  and,  as 
he  showed  off  his  acquisition,'he  said,  "  I  hoped  I  should 
have  died  young ;  but,  if  it  is  God's  will  that  I  should 
stay  some  time  longer  in  this  weariful  world,  I  must  be 
resigned.  And  this  is  the  article  of  furniture  in  which  I 
propose  to  grow  old." 

Severe  cold  and  extreme  heat  were  alike  injurious  to 
him  ;  and,  despite  his  repugnance  to  quitting  Paris, 
Alfred  went  for  three  years  in  succession  to  the  sea- 
side ;  not  to  try  bathing,  which  would  have  aggravated 
his  complaints,  but  to  breathe  the  fresh  and  tonic  air. 


28o  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

In  1854,  he  visited  Croisic,  whence  he  went  to  our  sis- 
ter's at  Angers,  where  he  stayed  a  month.  The  two 
following  years  he  spent  his  vacation  at  Havre.  Dur- 
ing his  last  journey,  while  living  at  the  Hotel  Frascati, 
he  became  very  intimate  with  an  English  family,  the 
head  of  which  was  a  man  of  note,  and  also  of  a  most 
simple  and  kindly  character.  The  daughters  of  M. 
Lyster,  who  were  both  at  the  fascinating  age  between 
childhood  and  maidenhood,  became  very  fond  of  the 
invalid  poet,  and  showed  their  affection  by  the  most 
assiduous  attentions.  Alfred,  on  his  part,  became  a  child 
again  ;  entered  into  the  games  of  the  two  sisters,  and 
devised  others  to  amuse  them.  He  was  particularly  suc- 
cessful in  making  them  talk,  for  he  always  had  the 
faculty  of  lending  his  own  wit  to  people  whom  he  fancied. 
As  I  have  said  before,  he  loved  and  venerated,  above 
every  thing  else,  youth,  innocence,  and  ingenuousness. 
Only  those  who  knew  him  well  can  understand  the 
delight  he  took  in  the  society  of  these  pleasant  girls. 
One  evening  he  stayed  out  later  than  was  prudent 
upon  the  mole  at  Havre,  and  had  a  feverish  attack  in  con- 
sequence. He  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  and  the  little  English  girls  were  uneasy  and 
sent  their  father  to  make  inquiries.  The  idea  of  passing 
a  day  without  seeing  their  new  friend  was  intolerable. 
I  do  not  know  whether  his  room  was  on  the  ground 
floor,  or  whether  its  windows  opened  upon  some  sort  of 
verandah ;  but  the  children  brought  their  chairs  to  his 
open  window  and  established  themselves  there,  and  the 
invalid  from  his  bed  took  part  in  their  games  and  their 
conversation.     He  enjoyed  it  so  much  that  the  fever 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  28 1 

subsided,  and  the  time  flew  fast  in  this  delightful  inti- 
macy. Everybody  was  dismayed  when  the  day  of  part- 
ing came.  Alfred  said  his  farewells,  and  mounted  into 
the  omnibus  which  was  to  take  him  to  the  railway. 
There  his  trunk  was  not  to  be  found.  He  called  for 
it  angrily,  but  no  one  knew  what  had  become  of  it.  It 
was  impossible  to  return  to  Paris  without  this  import- 
ant piece  of  luggage,  so  he  mounted  the  omnibus  once 
more  and  went  back  to  the  Hotel  Frascati.  At  the 
door  of  the  house,  he  was  met  by  loud  applause  :  the  two 
little  maidens  were  lying  in  wait  for  him.  They  clapped 
their  hands,  and  showed  him  his  trunk,  which  they  had 
themselves  dragged  aside  amid  the  confusion  of  the 
departure.  He  could  not  go  now  for  several  hours,  and 
their  joy  was  such  that  he  remained  in  Havre  two  or 
three  more  days. 

One  evening  in  the  autumn  he  found,  when  he  went 
home,  the  card  of  M.  Lyster.  He  was  enchanted,  and 
set  out  the  next  day  to  visit  his  Havre  friends.  They 
were  lodging  at  the  Champs  Elysdes,  and  the  fine  weather 
and  warm  sunshine  tempted  him  to  walk.  As  he  paced 
the  long  avenue,  he  reflected  on  the  different  manners 
prevailing  in  town  and  at  the  seaside.  There  would  not 
be  in  Paris  the  delightful  ease  and  freedom  which  had 
constituted  the  charm  of  their  former  intercourse.  They 
would  fancy  that  they  had  a  thousand  things  to  say,  but 
when  they  came  to  revert  to  their  common  memories 
and  pleasures,  they  would  find  that  they  scarcely  knew 
each  other.  "  My  maidens  will  have  other  friends  about 
them,"  mused  the  poet,  slackening  his  steps,  "fellow- 
countrymen  perhaps.     One  of  them  may  have  a  suitor. 


282  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

I  shall  only  be  a  caller  like  any  other,  and  possibly  a 
tiresome  one.  Farewell,  sweet  familiarity  and  childish 
merriment  and  play !  Am  I  sure  that  I  could  myself 
recover  the  mirthful  abandonment  of  the  seaside  ?  Per- 
haps I  shall  presently  be  returning  along  this  avenue, 
regretting  a  lost  illusion,  and  the  bloom  of  a  dear 
memory  destroyed.  It  would  be  better  not  to  touch  the 
butterfly's  wing." 

In  the  midst  of  such  reflections,  he  reached  the  door. 
He  was  divided  between  a  longing  to  see  the  young 
girls  again,  and  the  fear  of  disturbing  his  cherished 
memories  of  travel.  The  latter  scruple  prevailed.  In- 
stead of  pulling  the  bell,  he  retraced  his  steps.  He 
went  home,  and  never  saw  his  Havre  friends  again. 

One  winter  evening,  a  regular  poet's  fancy  seized  him 
for  making  a  retrospective  and  nocturnal  visit  to  Italy 
and  the  age  of  the  Renaissance,  He  begged  Horace  de 
Viel  Castel,  who  lodged  in  the  Louvre,  to  open  the 
picture  gallery  for  him  at  night.  He  was  accordingly 
admitted,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  into  the  gallery 
of  the  Italian  school,  with  a  portable  lamp  of  the  kind 
used  in  torchlight  processions.  He  stayed  there  a  long 
while,  lost  in  thought,  and  came  out  well  pleased,  say- 
ing that  he  had  lived  with  the  old  masters  that  night, 
and  that  there  were  two  for  whom  he  would  cheerfully 
have  mixed  colors  and  cut  pencils,  —  Raphael  and 
Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

In  the  month  of  March,  1857,  M.  Emile  Augier  was 
proposed  at  the  Academy.  Alfred  de  Musset,  who  was 
very  fond  of  him,  took  a  keen  interest  in  his  success. 
On  the  night  before  the  ballot,  he  was  seriously  ill ;  and 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  283 

M.  Augier,  fearing  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  be  pres- 
ent, besought  me  to  use  all  my  efforts  to  induce  him  to 
attend  the  meeting.  When  the  time  arrived,  I  found  my 
brother  resolved  to  go,  in  spite  of  the  incessant  palpita- 
tion of  the  heart  which  incommoded  him  extremely. 
He  sent  for  a  carriage,  but  there  was  none  to  be  found. 
The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents,  and  the  hour  of  the 
ballot  was  about  to  strike.  Alfred  took  my  arm  and 
started,  notwithstanding  the  storm.  He  walked  slowly 
along  the  Rue  Rivoli,  obliged  at  every  twenty  steps  to 
stop  and  take  breath.  Finally,  on  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  des  Pyramides,  I  succeeded  in  stopping  a  passing 
carriage.  He  entered  it,  and  arrived  just  in  time  to 
vote.  Revived  by  the  out-of-door  air  and  his  satisfac- 
tion at  having  voted,  and  exulting  also  in  the  success  of 
his  candidate,  Alfred  went  and  dined  at  a  restaurant 
and  thence  to  the  play.  His  housekeeper  scolded  him 
for  his  imprudence.  "  Never  you  mind  !  "  he  said, 
"  Very  likely  it  is  the  last  time.  My  friend  Tattet  is 
calling  me,  and  I  think  I  shall  rejoin  him  before  long." 

Tattet,  who  was  just  as  old  as  he,  had  died  not  long 
before,  from  an  attack  of  gout. 

M.  Empis,  of  the  Academy,  struck  by  the  change  in 
his  colleague's  appearance,  inquired  of  me  about  his 
health,  and  asked  if  he  were  following  any  course  of 
treatment.  I  replied  that  he  was  unwilling  to  do  so ; 
but  that  he  had  an  excellent  physician  who  gave  him 
directions  and  advice  informally.  "  We  will  force 
him  to  take  care  of  himself,"  said  M.  Empis,  "and 
this  is  the  way  we  will  manage."  I  will  get  him  in- 
vited to  Saint  Cloud ;  and,  when  there,  he  will  have  to 


284  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

obey  the  physician  of  the  house.     M.  R will  cure 

him. 

I  thought  this  little  conspiracy  might  possibly  succeed. 
Once  at  Saint  Cloud,  Alfred  would  submit  to  guidance ; 
but,  while  waiting  the  return  of  warm  weather  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  project,  I  made  a  trip  of  a  few 
days  to  Augers.  While  I  was  away,  Alfred  received  an 
invitation  to  dine  at  the  Palais  Royal  with  Prince  Napo- 
leon. He  was  very  ill,  but  he  was  determined  to  go. 
Dressing  fatigued  him  so  much  that  he  was  late,  and 
when  he  arrived  the  company  was  already  at  table. 
After  dinner,  wishing  to  efface  the  unfavorable  impres- 
sion made  by  his  late  arrival,  he  drew  near  the  Prince 
and  engaged  in  the  conversation,  which  he  soon  con- 
trolled, and  rendered  it  grave  and  gay  by  turns,  but 
always  interesting.  It  is  not  so  long  ago  but  that  many 
of  the  persons  present  still  remember  that  evening,  and 
they  have  told  me  that  Alfred  de  Musset  never  seemed 
to  them  more  animated  and  pleasing.  It  was  his  last 
evening  out.  When  he  went  home,  he  took  his  bed,  and 
never  rose  from  it  again. 

I  was  still  at  Augers,  when  I  received  on  the  26th  of 
April,  a  letter  from  Alfred's  housekeeper,  begging  me  to 
return.  I  brought  forward  some  pretext  of  business  and 
set  out  for  Paris.  When  I  arrived,  I  found  my  brother 
in  bed ;  but  quiet,  and  without  fever.  The  fainting  fits 
which  had  now  become  habitual  with  him  recurred  from 
time  to  time  ;  but  in  the  intervals  he  did  not  suffer.  He 
could  listen  to  reading  or  talk  tranquilly.  The  house- 
keeper whom  I  had  always  thought  an  excellent  judge 
of  his  condition,  appeared  less  alarmed  than  she  had 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  285 

been,  and  I  took  courage.  The  improvement  lasted  until 
April  29th.  On  the  30th,  I  thought  the  doctor  anxious 
during  the  day  ;  and  his  anxiety  infected  me  as  soon  as  I 
heard  him  pronounce  the  terrible  word  consultation.  At 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  May  ist,  M.  Morel- 
Lavallde  had  an  interview  with  the  accomplished  M. 
Rostan,  whom  I  had  summoned.  Each  of  them  told 
me  separately  that  there  was  no  immediate  danger,  and 
that  they  would  come  again  the  next  day  at  the  same 
hour.  The  day  was  not  a  bad  one.  Our  invalid  had 
obeyed  all  the  instructions  implicitly,  and  he  experienced 
decided  relief.  He  congratulated  himself  in  the  even- 
ing on  his  docility.  "Tranquillity  is  a  fine  thing,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  a  great  mistake  for  us  to  be  so  afraid  of 
death,  which  is  only  extreme  exhaustion." 

He  was  in  an  admirable  frame  of  mind.  He  made 
plans,  —  one,  among  others,  for  going  back  to  Havre; 
but,  since  he  must  always  have  some  subject  of  anxiety, 
he  regretted  not  having  accepted  the  proposition  of  his 
publisher,  who  had  wanted  him  to  surrender  all  pecu- 
niary interest  in  his  works,  in  consideration  of  a  yearly 
payment  of  twenty -four  hundred  francs  during  his  life. 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  showing  him  that  he  need  not  re- 
gret the  conclusion  of  this  affair.  He  then  made  the 
most  minute  inquiries  about  my  occupations,  and  after- 
wards asked  in  succession  after  every  one  of  the  persons 
whom  he  loved,  as  if  he  were  holding  a  review  of  his 
personal  attachments.  His  questions  multiplied.  The 
angelic  face  of  Sister  Marcelline  came  back  to  his  mem- 
ory and  smiled  upon  him.  We  talked,  still  in  the  most 
peaceful  fashion,  until  an  hour  after  midnight,  when  he 


286  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

suddenly  started  up  and  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  heart 
as  though  he  felt  some  extraordinary  disturbance  there. 
His  face  took  on  a  strange  expression  of  surprise  and 
concentrated  attention.  His  eyes  opened  to  their  utmost 
width.  I  asked  him  if  he  suffered.  He  shook  his  head, 
and  to  my  other  questions  replied  only  by  these  words, 
as  he  lay  back  upon  his  pillows,  —  "  Sleep  !  At  last  I 
am  going  to  sleep." 

Sleeplessness  had  always  been  his  most  implacable 
enemy,  and  I  took  this  for  a  favorable  crisis  in  his 
disease.  It  was  death.  He  closed  his  eyes,  and  opened 
them  no  more.  His  calm  and  regular  breathing  died 
gradually  away.  His  last  sigh  was  unaccompanied  by 
a  single  convulsive  or  agonized  movement.  Death,  for 
which  he  had  wished  so  often,  had  come  to  him  as  a 
friend,  in  the  guise  of  slumber.  A  congestion  of  the 
heart  was  the  immediate  cause.  Was  he  conscious  that 
he  was  dying?  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  he  desired  to 
spare  me  the  anguish  of  a  last  farewell.  Perhaps  his 
weariness  with  life,  his  sense  of  deliverance,  and  the 
gentle  mastery  of  slumber,  left  him  no  strength  to  utter 
any  supreme  good-by. 

When  the  first  rays  of  dawn  fell  on  his  face,  a  super-* 
natural  beauty  was  diffused  over  it,  as  though  the  great 
thoughts  to  which  his  genius  had  imparted  an  imperish- 
able form  were  shining  round  him  like  an  aureole.  The 
attendants  who  took  care  of  him  could  not  believe  in 
this  unexpected  departure.  "  It  is  impossible,"  they 
said.     "  He  is  asleep.     He  will  wake." 

I  touched  my  lips  to  his  forehead,  but  it  was  already 
cold  as  marble. 


BiograpJiy  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  287 


XVIII. 

TT  cannot  be  denied  that  nature  sometimes  imprisons 
-*•  a  beautiful  soul  in  a  deformed  or  uncomely  frame ; 
but  usually  she  is  pleased  to  bestow  upon  poets  the  gift 
of  fine  looks.  When  we  consider  the  portraits  of  Mo- 
libre,  Racine,  Tasso,  and  Byron,  we  are  glad  to  see  in 
their  features  a  style  of  beauty  corresponding  with  the 
character  of  their  genius. 

In  his  whole  personal  appearance,  Alfred  de  Musset 
displayed  the  symmetry  and  harmony  which  constitute 
perfection.  His  figure  of  medium  height  (five  feet  four 
inches)  remained  slender  and  elegant  so  long  as  he  pre- 
served his  health.  When  he  was  a  young  man,  he  looked 
but  a  boy,  and  in  mature  life  he  was  often  taken  for 
a  very  young  man.  At  twenty  he  was  the  perfect  type 
of  the  graceful  page  of  old-time  courts,  and  he  very 
often  wore  the  costume  of  one  at  fancy  balls.  His  face 
was  impressive  from  uniting  two  kinds  of  beauty,  —  regu- 
larity of  feature  and  vivacity  of  expression.  His  blue  eyes 
were  full  of  fire.  His  delicate  and  slightly  aquiline  nose 
recalled  the  portraits  of  Van  Dyck;  and  his  friends 
frequently  noticed  the  likeness  between  the  two.  His 
mouth  was  rather  large,  and  his  lips  somewhat  too  full,  — 
less  so  than  La  Fontaine's,  however ;  but  they  lent  them- 
selves with  extreme  mobility  to  the  expression  of  his 
feelings,  and  betrayed  all  the  keen  susceptibility  of  his 
heart.     Under   the    influence   of    the   softer   emotions, 


288  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset, 

like  pity  or  compassion,  they  quivered  imperceptibly. 
You  saw  at  once  that  that  mouth  could  become  eloquent 
with  passion,  or  smile  with  easy  irony  in  conversation. 
But  his  finest  feature  of  all  was  his  forehead,  of  which 
the  shading  suggested  all  the  bumps  which  phrenology 
has  designated  as  the  seats  of  the  most  precious  facul- 
ties. Whether  that  science  be  genuine  or  chimerical,  it 
is  certain  that  it  attributed  to  the  author  of  the  "  Nights  " 
(although  not  invented  specially  for  him)  jDoetic  sensi- 
bility, reflective  power,  perspicacity,  ardor  of  mind,  and 
an  instinctive  appreciation  of  all  the  arts. 

There  are  but  two  portraits  of  Alfred  de  Musset  which 
give  a  just  idea  of  him, —  the  medallion  of  David  d' Angers, 
and  the  crayon  by  Charles  Landelle.  Unlike  as  the 
faces  are,  it  should  be  remembered  that  they  are  sepa- 
rated by  a  long  interval  of  time,  —  the  one  likeness  having 
been  taken  in  183 1,  the  other  in  1854.  Landelle  was 
mistaken  in  giving  his  sketch  a  dreamy  aspect.  Alfred 
himself  used  to  complain  that  the  artist  had  made  him 
look  as  if  he  were  asleep,  whereas  his  usual  expression 
was  very  spirited.  This  appears  in  David's  medallion 
to  a  remarkable  degree.  Were  it  not  for  this  trifling 
defect,  the  work  of  Landelle  would  be  perfect.  It  has, 
moreover,  the  advantage  over  bronze  or  plaster  of  repro- 
ducing faithfully  the  beautiful  color  of  the  original,  and 
the  fine  tint  of  his  fair  hair ;  for  Alfred  de  Musset  had 
not  a  single  gray  hair  when  he  died. 

The  other  portraits,  whatever  the  talent  of  their 
authors,  can  but  bewilder  the  recollections  of  the  poet's 
friends,  and  give  a  false  and  inadequate  idea  to  those 
who  never  saw  him.     I  would  except,  however,  the  mar- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset.  289 

ble  bust,  made  by  M.  Mezzara  for  the  Thedtre  Frangais. 
It  was  executed  long  after  the  poet's  death ;  and  not  only 
was  that  difficulty  surmounted,  but  it  is  even  remarkable 
for  the  correctness  of  the  likeness. 

No  description  whatever  can  take  the  place  of  the 
sculptor's  chisel  or  the  painter's  brush  in  the  representa- 
tion of  a  man's  physical  semblance.  As  for  the  soul  of 
the  poet,  if  I  have  not  failed  in  my  task,  it  will  be  found 
the  same  in  the  story  of  his  life  as  in  his  works,  where  he 
has  himself  depicted  it  with  evident  sincerity.  A  few 
traits  of  character  will  now  suffice  for  the  completion  of 
his  moral  portrait. 

I  think  that  there  were  but  two  men  of  genius,  before 
Alfred  de  Musset,  who  ever  carried  so  far  the  courage  of 
perfect  frankness ;  and  they  were  Jean  Jaques  Rousseau 
and  Lord  Byron.  It  cost  them  both  dear.  When  the 
philosopher  of  Geneva  laid  bare  his  soul,  he  fancied  that 
the  revelation  of  his  faults  would  win  them  pardon.  He 
was  mistaken,  for  the  reason  that  those  faults  were 
enormous,  and  some  of  them  were  unpardonable.  The 
English  poet  would  seem  to  have  gone  yet  farther  than 
Jean  Jacques.  He  is  thought  to  have  yielded  to  the  in- 
sensate desire  of  seeming  worse  than  he  really  was.  It 
was  giving  a  wide  scope  to  calumny,  which  profited  by 
the  fact  so  far  that  posterity  is  now  obliged  to  defend 
the  poet  against  himself.  The  defence  will  be  success- 
ful, but  not  easily  so.  The  French  poet  has  likened  him- 
self, not  without  reason,  to  the  priest  who  offers  his  own 
heart  in  sacrifice.  He  offered  it  naked,  for  he  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  truth.  The  well  meaning  men 
who  think  themselves   qualified   to   reprove  him,  have 

19 


290  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

not  known  Alfred  de  Musset  aright.  As  for  those  who 
do  not  highly  regard  the  poetry  of  the  heart,  and  call  it 
personal  poetry,  their  prejudices  can  only  harm  them- 
selves, and  nothing  that  we  can  say  would  remove  them. 
They  do  not  succumb  to  the  charm  of  the  poetry  in 
question,  because  they  lack  the  heart  in  which  it  might 
awake  an  echo.  It  is  an  unfailing  touchstone :  "  Tell 
me  what  poets  you  love  and  do  not  love,  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  you  are." 

Alfred  de  Musset  was  not  satisfied  with  being  sincere. 
He  swore  uncompromising  hostility  to  falsehood  in  every 
guise.  Whenever  he  encountered  it,  —  and,  unhappily, 
he  saw  it  often  and  near  at  hand,  —  he  struck  it  in  the 
face.  He  could  excuse  all,  pardon  all,  except  deceit. 
He  never  awarded  to  rhymers  without  talent  who  sub- 
mitted to  him  their  verses  that  species  of  good-natured 
flattery  which  hurries  young  aspirants  into  that  danger- 
ous path  at  the  end  of  which  lie  the  mortifications  of  a 
mistaken  calling.  If  he  had  ever  done  that  cruel  deed 
which  others  commit  without  scruple,  it  would  have  been 
for  him  a  source  of  deep  remorse.  Liars  had  made  him 
suspicious  ;  and  although  he  called  mistrust  "  an  evil 
genius,  introduced  into  his  nature,  but  not  born  there," 
experience  had  cultivated  the  feeling.  He  despised  the 
human  race,  yet  he  who  had  spoken  to  him  but  twice 
might  call  him  friend.  No  man  was  more  readily  be- 
guiled than  he ;  no  heart  opened  more  easily  than  his. 
A  few  advances,  a  few  marks  of  sympathy,  sufficed  to 
obtain  from  him  all  that  was  desired.  He  was  at  the 
mercy  of  the  impressions  of  the  moment,  especially  in  a 
tete-a-tete,  and  wholly  carried  away  by  the  charms  of 
conversation. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mjisset.  291 

The  Marquis  of  Manzo,  the  biographer  of  Tasso, 
makes  the  same  remark  in  the  precious  notice  of  the 
great  poet  which  he  has  left  us.  "  These  beings  en- 
dowed with  excessive  sensibility  pour  out,"  he  says, 
"  involuntarily  the  treasures  of  their  souls  before  the 
first  person  who  presents  himself.  Animated  by  the 
desire  to  please,  they  confide  their  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings to  whoever  will  listen,  and  even  to  indifferent 
persons." 

Lord  Byron  carried  this  confiding  spirit  beyond  the 
verge  of  imprudence.  "  The  first  person,"  says  Thomas 
Moore,  "with  whom  chance  brought  him  in  contact 
became  the  whole  world  to  him,  and  might,  if  he 
pleased,  know  all  Byron's  secrets."  And  Moore  adds, 
that  this  is  a  trait  which  we  find  in  all  times  and  all 
countries  among  those  who  have  received  the  fatal  gift 
of  poesy. 

This  was  the  natural  disposition  of  Alfred  de  Musset ; 
but  let  his  suspicions  be  ever  so  slightly  roused,  and  he 
became  the  most  impenetrable  person  in  the  world.  He 
had  an  extreme  distrust  of  journalists,  anecdote-mongers, 
indiscreet  story-tellers,  and,  above  all,  of  editors,  who 
peddle  out  to  one  writer  what  they  have  gathered  from 
another.  Felix  Bonnaire  came  to  see  him  at  least  once 
a  week  for  fifteen  years,  and  was  no  farther  advanced  in 
his  intimacy  at  the  end  than  at  the  beginning.  With 
M.  Charpentier,  who  repeated  to  him  what  he  heard 
elsewhere,  Alfred  played,  for  the  sixteen  years  during 
which  they  had  business  relations,  a  comedy  at  which 
we  have  more  than  once  laughed  together.  This  comedy 
consisted  in  the  demonstration  by  every  manner  of  proof 


292  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

of  the  fact  that  his  works  would  not  survive,  but  would 
be  forgotten  after  his  death. 

A  few  great  poets  have  been  exceptions  to  the  rule 
stated  by  the  Marquis  de  Manzo  and  Thomas  Moore. 
Gothe,  among  others,  was  resolved  to  become  master  of 
himself,  and  succeeded  so  well  Uiat  he  has  even  been 
reproached  for  his  reticence.  Who  knows  but  the 
greatest  mind  of  Germany,  so  often  accused  of  insensi- 
bility, understood  that  he  could  escape  the  poet's  malady 
only  by  subjugating  his  own  heart  ?  Tasso,  assuredly, 
would  never  have  been  confined  in  his  dungeon,  if  he 
had  been  master  of  himself  as  Gothe  was  ;  and  Gothe 
himself  —  who,  by  the  way,  wrote  a  drama  of  Torquato 
Tasso  —  might  have  run  the  risk  of  being  thought  mad, 
and  confined  like  his  hero,  had  he  not  imposed  silence 
upon  his  own  heart  amid  the  pleasures  of  the  court  at 
Weimar. 

Even  if  he  had  tried,  Alfred  de  Musset  could  never 
have  assumed  the  impassible  front  of  Gothe ;  but  he 
did  not  carry  his  rashness  to  the  same  length  as  Byron. 
To  judg6  of  the  keenness  of  his  sensibilities,  one  needs 
but  to  open  a  volume  of  his  poems.  One  can  see  by 
the  sonnet  to  M.  Rdgnier  how  his  intellect  received  its 
impulses  from  his  heart.  He  was  passing  one  evening 
through  the  vestibule  of  the  Theatre  Frangais.  A  strip 
of  paper  pasted  on  the  bill,  announced  a  change  in  the 
play.  M.  Regnier's  daughter  had  died  that  very  day. 
Alfred  was  barely  acquainted  with  that  excellent  come- 
dian, whose  talent,  however,  he  admired.  The  death  of 
a  child  whom  he  had  never  seen,  the  sorrow  of  the  poor 
father,  smote  and  saddened  him.     A  great  many  people 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  293 

passed  through  that  vestibule,  and  some  of  them  no 
doubt  were  conscious  of  a  similar  pang  ;  but  he  alone 
was  unable  to  banish  the  sorrowful  impression.  He 
must  needs  relieve  his  feelings,  and  send  to  the  bereaved 
father  some  expression  of  his  sympathy.  Hence  the 
beautiful  sonnet  to  M.  Regnier.  There  could  not 
be  a  better  illustration  of  the  poetic  organization  par 
excellence. 

Few  men  have  ever  been  as  susceptible  to  the  senti- 
ment of  pity  as  the  author  of  these  verses.  The  sight  of 
a  case  of  suffering,  a  sorrow  confided  to  his  ear,  would 
agitate  him  to  the  extent  of  haunting  his  dreams.  One 
evening  he  came  home  very  late  from  the  Theatre 
Frangais,  where  he  went  so  often.  It  was  a  cold, 
snowy  winter  night.  Wrapped  to  his  eyes  in  his  cloak, 
and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he  had  passed  an  old 
beggar  playing  a  hand-organ  on  the  bridge  of  the  Saints 
P^res.  The  persistence  with  which  the  old  man  turned 
his  crank,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  few  sous,  touched 
him  vaguely ;  but  the  roaring  wind  and  falling  snow, 
and  the  slippery  footway  which  he  was  obliged  to  heed 
distracted  his  attention.  Arrived  at  the  door  of  his 
house  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  he  still  heard  far  away  the 
plaintive  wail  of  that  organ  ;  and,  instead  of  pulling  the 
bell,  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was  past 
midnight.  "That  poor  devil,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  would 
have  gone  home  perhaps,  if  I  had  given  him  something. 
I  shall  be  the  cause  of  his  getting  an  illness  in  this  pes- 
tiferous weather." 

His  imagination  pictured  the  miserable  wretch  dying 
of  neglect  in  some  garret,  and  the  notion  took  such  hold 


294  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

of  him  that  he  could  not  advance  another  step.  He 
went  straight  back  to  the  beggar  on  the  bridge,  and 
tossed  him  a  five-franc  piece.  "  There,"  he  said,  "  that 
is  probably  more  than  you  will  get  if  you  stay  there 
until  morning.  For  God's  sake  go  home  to  bed !  I'll 
give  you  the  money  only  on  that  condition." 

The  beggar,  who  had  not  looked  for  such  a  windfall, 
gathered  up  his  luggage  and  decamped.  I  represented 
to  my  brother  the  next  day  that  his  alms  had  been 
rather  magnificent.  "  It  is  impossible,"  he  replied,  "  to 
pay  too  high  for  sleep  ;  and,  if  I  had  come  home  without 
stopping  that  d — d  music,  I  should  not  have  slept  for 
the  night." 

The  pitying  horror  with  which  he  regarded  suffering, 
and  his  desire  to  relieve  it,  did  not  stop  with  human 
beings.  Even  beasts  felt  the  effects  of  it.  His  house- 
keeper one  day  apprised  him  of  the  critical  circumstances 
of  a  puppy  about  to  be  thrown  into  the  river.  He 
solemnly  stayed  the  execution,  and  took  the  condemned 
creature  home.     So  he  was  provided  with  a  dog. 

The  cat's  turn  came  next.  Alfred  requested  that  he 
might  have  one  of  the  young  ones  of  the  first  cat  who 
had  kittens,  not  being  able  to  take  charge  of  the  entire 
family.  They  sent  him  a  frightful  little  beast,  —  shaggy, 
and  of  a  dirty  gray  color.  "  I  am  not  very  fortunate," 
he  said,  contemplating  his  boarders.  "  I  like  only  beauti- 
ful things,  and  here  I  am  encumbered  with  an  ugly  pug 
and  a  regular  area  cat.  But  what's  to  be  done  ?  I  did 
not  select  them,  and  I  cannot  help  respecting  and  admir- 
ing in  these  poor  beasts  —  ugly  as  they  are  —  the  phenom- 
enon of  life  and  the  work  of  mysterious  nature." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  295 

The  benefactor  had  no  reason  to  repent  his  generosity. 
By  dint  of  grace  and  amiability,  the  kitten  won  pardon 
for  the  homeliness  of  her  garb,  and  the  dog  proved  to 
be  endowed  with  all  the  canine  virtues  and  remarkably 
intelligent.  In  fact,  the  celebrated  Marzo  was  the  ad- 
miration of  all  the  servant-maids  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  even  made  himself  useful  by  going  alone  every  even- 
ing to  the  newspaper  stand  with  three  sous  in  an  enve- 
lope, and  bringing  back  the  "  Presse "  in  his  teeth. 
Without  the  assistance  of  language,  he  could  get  the 
house-door  opened,  and  conclude  a  business  transac- 
tion successfully.  I  shall  not  praise  his  love  for  his 
master :  it  would  be  an  insult.  Marzo  did  not  consider 
gratitude  a  merit,  nor  devotion  a  virtue.  He  will  for 
ever  remain  ignorant  of  the  fact,  that,  among  the  breed 
of  human  beings,  there  are  those  who  are  envious  and 
ingrate.  Even  now,  in  decrepit  old  age,  he  remembers 
him  who  is  no  more  ;  and  when  the  housekeeper,  his  last 
faithful  friend,  speaks  to  him  of  his  master,  he  pricks  up 
his  ears,  and  shows  that  he  is  thinking  of  the  one  he 
loves,  and  whose  return  he  is  always  expecting.^ 

Tattet  who  had  less  respect  for  th& phenomenon  of  life 
got  rid  of  an  old  dog  who  was  in  his  way  by  having  him 
killed.  Alfred  de  Musset,  indignant  at  such  cruelty, 
overwhelmed  his  friend  with  reproaches,  and  treated  him 

'  Marzo  died  of  old  age  Aug.  28,  1864,  cared  for  to  the  last,  and 
deeply  mourned  by  his  old  friend.  Mme.  Martelet,  unwilling  that  his  body 
should  be  flung  into  the  rubbish  cart,  charged  her  husband  to  bury  it.  He 
set  out  early  with  Marzo's  remains  wrapped  up  in  a  newspaper.  Arrived 
at  Auteuil,  he  found  some  men  at  work  digging,  and  asked  permission  to 
put  the  body  in  a  load  of  earth  which  they  were  about  to  remove.  Marzo 
was  buried  in  a  heap  of  dirt,  under  a  new  street  which  afterwards  received 
the  name  of  the  Rue  de  Musset.  —  P.  M. 


296  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

with  coolness  for  some  time.  Before  he  could  be  for- 
given, Tattet  had  to  own  that  he  was  wrong,  and  say 
that  he  was  sorry. 

But  if  the  affection  of  a  dog  proves  nothing,  —  since 
these  virtuous  animals  often  attach  themselves  to  very 
objectionable  persons,  —  the  master  of  poor  Marzo  was 
able  to  inspire  the  same  sentiment  of  tender  devotion  in 
others,  less  easy  to  win.  In  the  various  houses  where 
he  lived,  and  the  haunts  which  he  regularly  frequented, 
he  was  loved  with  a  species  of  adoration ;  and  it  was 
not  always  for  the  sake  of  his  poems  and  his  fame,  for 
some  of  his  friends  did  not  even  know  how  to  read. 
There  were  those  who  would  have  gone  through  the  fire 
for  him.  Their  zeal  and  their  demonstrations  of  interest 
reminded  him  of  that  boy  in  the  cafe  of  the  Porte  Maillot 
who  was  so  smitten  with  J.  J.  Rousseau,  and  took  care 
of  him  and  served  him  with  so  marked  a  preference, 
without  dreaming  that  his  friend  was  an  author  and  a 
philosopher.  Alfred  de  Musset  set  great  store  by  these 
spontaneous  attachments,  and  often  returned  them  by 
rendering  real  service  to  these  good  people  and  interest- 
ing himself  in  their  affairs. 

At  the  chess  club  and  the  Cafe  de  la  R^gence,  he 
was  keenly  regretted.  But  the  fondest  and  truest  of  his 
friends  was  his  uncle  Desherbiers.  There  was  no  sacri- 
fice which  this  good  man  would  not  have  made  for  his 
nephew.  He  was  comrade  and  father  in  one,  Alfred 
loved  him  with  filial  devotion,  and  neither  could  do  with- 
out the  other.  On  some  points  their  opinions  differed. 
In  literature,  politics,  and  philosophy,  they  did  not 
always  agree.      At  chess  or  piquet,  they  occasionally 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  297 

quarrelled,  and  parted  in  dudgeon.  But  the  next  morn- 
ing Alfred  would  write  a  note  of  apology  ;  and  in  the 
evening  they  would  meet,  and  make  no  allusion  to  the 
differences  of  the  night  before.  Often,  at  the  very 
instant  when  the  letter  of  excuses  was  being  despatched, 
the  good  uncle  would  arrive  under  the  impression  that 
it  was  he  who  had  been  in  the  wrong.  They  were  like 
Henry  IV,  and  D'Aubignd,whose  tiffs  and  reconciliations, 
says  Sully,  were  like  those  of  a  lover  and  his  mistress. 
This  impassioned  friendship  lasted  as  long  as  they 
lived. 

In  the  address  delivered  at  his  reception  by  the  Aca- 
demy, Alfred  de  Musset  said,  "  I  have  never  quarrelled 
with  any  one  but  myself."  A  grudge  was  an  impossi- 
bility to  him.  When  literary  differences  had  alienated 
him  from  the  "  Cdnacle,"  and  he  felt  that  there  was  a 
coolness  between  Victor  Hugo  and  himself,  it  was  a  real 
grief  of  mind  to  him.  One  day,  in  the  spring  of  1843, 
the  two  poets  met  at  a  breakfast  at  M.  Guettinguer's. 
They  came  forward  to  greet  each  other  with  outstretched 
hands,  and  conversed  as  gaily  as  though  they  had  parted 
only  the  evening  before  ;  and  Alfred  was  so  moved  by 
his  cordial  welcome  that  he  wrote  the  fine  sonnet  which 
has  made  the  memory  of  it  immortal,  "  II  faut  dans  ce 
bas  monde  aimer  beaucoup  de  choses." 

Among  the  ladies  of  Paris  most  distinguished  for  wit, 
elegance,  beauty,  and  good  taste,  I  could  cite  a  score 
who  gave  him  proof  of  sincere  friendship.  Those  to 
whom  he  has  addressed  verses,  and  whom  he  has  desig- 
nated by  their  initials,  —  Mme.  T.,  Mme.  O.,  Mme. 
G.,  —  are  easily  recognizable  by  people  in  society.    Now 


298  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset. 

that  Mme.  Menessier  Nodier  has  been  named  by  the 
poet,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  saying  that  the  sonnet, 
"  Je  vous  ai  vue,  enfant,"  and  the  two  following  ones,  were 
composed  for  her.  The  rondeau,  "  II  est  aisd  de  plaire  k 
qui  veut  plaire,"  was  addressed  to  the  wife  of  a  minister. 
But  there  are  no  verses  in  his  collected  poems  addressed 
to  one  person  whom  I  wish  and  ought  to  name.  Mme. 
Ancelot  was  very  fond  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  Her  sup- 
port was  of  great  use  to  him,  when  he  was  a  candidate 
for  the  Academy,  in  the  way  of  winning  over  M.  Ancelot, 
and  saying  good  things  of  him  with  that  constant  pre- 
meditation of  which  kindly  women  alone  are  capable. 
Moreover,  he  always  spoke  of  her  with  gratitude  and 
respect,  and  freely  owned  his  obligations  to  her.  Those 
who  represent  Alfred  de  Musset  as  prone  to  sarcasm 
and  slander  show  that  they  had  no  real  knowledge  of 
him.  He  never  slandered  any  one.  He  never  sacri- 
ficed the  absent  to  the  pleasure  of  turning  a  witticism. 
He  was  even  unwilling  to  listen  to  the  slander  of  others, 
for  fear  of  becoming  accessory  by  the  mere  hearing. 
No  one  with  the  slightest  regard  for  truth  will  refuse  to 
believe  that  many  of  the  ill-natured  bon-mots  which 
have  been  ascribed  to  him  are  due  to  those  who  pretend 
to  have  heard  them  from  his  lips,  and  take  this  course 
to  gratify  their  private  grudges.  Whenever  any  one 
ventured  to  insult  him  to  his  face,  Alfred  de  Musset 
showed  a  prompt  and  terrible  power  of  repartee,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  him  to  commence  hostilities.  Some- 
times it  was  only  upon  reflection  that  he  took  the  sense 
of  an  injurious  remark,  so  hard  was  it  for  him  to  credit  a 
malevolent  intention. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  299 

Not  only  did  he  never  make  an  unfair  use  of  his 
intellectual  superiority,  but,  in  conversation,  he  put  him- 
self on  a  level  with  his  interlocutors,  as  much  through 
modesty  as  politeness  ;  so  that  they  left  him  as  well 
satisfied  with  themselves  as  with  him.  This  amenity 
did  not  prevent  his  maintaining  his  own  opinion  with 
entire  frankness ;  but  the  attention  which  he  paid  to  the 
views  of  other  people,  and  the  form  of  courtesy  which 
he  knew  so  well  how  to  preserve,  rendered  discussion  with 
him  easy  and  interesting.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  differ 
from  him.  Few  people  have  the  courage  of  their  opin- 
ions in  the  presence  of  men  of  authority;  and  the  ever- 
lasting assent  with  which  their  remarks  are  received 
must  be  an  exceedingly  wearisome  thing  to  princes. 
Alfred  de  Musset  pleased  them,  because  he  ventured  to 
express  opinions  contrary  to  theirs,  and  did  it  with  as 
much  tact  as  independence. 

In  the  same  manner,  he  liked  to  have  people  hold 
their  own  against  himself.  He  liked  them  to  defend 
their  cause  while  they  had  a  reason  to  give,  or  an  argu- 
ment to  adduce,  and  especially  he  liked  them  to  express 
their  thoughts  clearly.  In  his  earliest  years,  he  showed 
his  antipathy  for  hesitation.  One  evening  in  1828,  our 
father  took  us  both  to  the  house  of  General  Caux,  at  the 
war  department,  to  listen  to  a  eulogy  on  the  late  Due 
de  Rivibre  by  M.  Alissan  de  Chazet.  The  audience 
consisted  of  royalists,  tried  and  true.  Before  we  entered 
the  minister's  drawing-room,  our  father  charged  us  to  be 
careful  not  to  wound  the  self-esteem  of  the  author.  M. 
Alissan  de  Chazet  read  his  panegyric  somewhat  tamely ; 
and,  when  he  had  finished,  the  admirers  of   the  Duke 


300  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

congratulated  him.  By  way  of  showing  that  he  was  not 
intoxicated  by  the  nectar  of  compliment,  the  author 
requested  criticism.  He  even  insisted  upon  it,  remarking 
that  this  was  the  time  to  point  out  his  faults  before  his 
MS.  went  to  the  printer.  Alfred  immediately  spoke  up, 
and  said  that  he  had  a  criticism  to  make.  The  company 
gathered  around  the  little  blond,  who  was  entirely  un- 
known, while  our  father  knitted  his  brows  in  some 
anxiety.  "  Monsieur,"  said  the  lad,  "  in  the  piece  which 
you  have  read  to  us,  ever}'  time  you  make  a  comparison, 
or  illustrate  your  thought  by  an  image,  you  seem  to  ask 
the  reader's  pardon  by  saying,  ' so  to  speak,'  or  'if  I 
may  venture  to  say  so.'  Now  I  think  that  one  should 
dare  say  things  as  he  feels  them,  and  I  should  advise 
you  to  suppress  those  rhetorical  precautions.  I  prefer 
too  great  boldness  to  an  appearance  of  timidity," 

The  assurance  of  the  fair-haired  boy  was  highly  amus- 
ing to  the  company,  and  his  strictures  did  not  displease 
the  panegyrist  of  M.  de  Riviere.  Two  years  later,  the 
critic  published  poems,  against  which  no  one  could  prefer 
the  charge  of  timidity. 

Yet,  when  circumstances  required  them,  Musset  did  not 
despise  "rhetorical  precautions."  At  the  house  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Castries,  much  frequented  by  the  old  Due 
de  Fitz-James,  who  was  very  fond  of  anecdotes  of  French 
character,  and  told  them  wonderfully  well ;  at  the  god- 
mother's, where  fashion  never  excluded  gayety ;  when 
visiting  other  women  of  the  world,  nay  even  in  the  salon 
of  a  prude,  —  Alfred  had  the  art  of  saying  things  so  as 
not  to  wound  the  most  fastidious  ears. 

The  fact  that  he  never  neglected  the  opportunity  of 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  301 

making  a  joke  when  one  came  in  his  way  shows  that 
there  was  a  great  fund  of  good-humor  in  the  man.  Yet 
his  jests  were  always  innocent,  and  had  no  end  save  that 
of  amusement,  for  he  detested  mystifications.  One  even- 
ing Princess  Belgiojoso,  whose  friendship  for  him  was 
very  sincere,  had  some  sort  of  grievance  against  him. 
When  the  time  came  to  take  leave,  the  princess  said 
with  some  severity  that  she  owed  him  a  grudge.  He 
went  home  resolved  to  write  a  submissive  letter  and  ask 
her  pardon,  and  the  first  sheet  of  paper  that  he  took  up 
was  a  stamped  one.  He  determined  to  use  it,  and  ac- 
cordingly composed  a  letter  full  of  whimsical  apologies, 
which  he  wound  up  by  saying  that  the  official  sheet 
would  attest  the  solemnity  of  his  asseverations  and  the 
profundity  of  his  repentance.  The  next  time  he  saw  the 
offended  lady,  she  held  out  her  hands,  laughing  so  heartily 
that  the  other  persons  present  were  amazed  at  her  wel- 
come, and  demanded  an  explanation  of  it,  which  was 
given. 

Even  among  entirely  congenial  people,  there  are  mo- 
ments in  the  country,  and  in  summer,  when  the  time 
seems  long.  At  such  times,  Alfred  de  Musset  delighted 
in  giving  a  new  impulse  to  conversation.  When  he  fore- 
saw these  hours  of  languor  and  weariness,  his  inventive 
mind  had  a  thousand  resources.  One  morning,  in  a  cer- 
tain c/idteau,  the  numerous  guests  had  abandoned  them- 
selves to  the  far  niente.  The  chcttdain  had  thrown  up 
his  duties  as  proprietor ;  the  men  were  reading  the  news- 
papers, or  smoking  on  the  outside  steps :  the  need  of 
some  kind  of  diversion  was  universally  felt.  Some  of 
the  ladies  took  their  work,  and  one  sat  down  at  the 


302  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

piano  and  played  a  mazourka.  Alfred  thought  that  he 
detected  a  melancholy  meaning  in  the  first  phrase  of  the 
air,  and  a  gayer  thought  in  the  second,  and  he  traced 
the  same  contradiction  through  all  the  developments  of 
the  theme.  He  said  so.  to  the  lady  at  the  piano,  and 
illustrated  the  difference  of  sentiment  which  he  had  de- 
tected, by  singing  to  the  melody  of  the  ritornello,  — 

"Alas!  Alas! 
What  sorrow  in  the  world  ! 

Aha!  Aha! 
What  pleasure  here  below  !  " 

To  show  that  she  understood  him,  the  lady  sang  it  in 
her  turn,  and  then  asked  for  more  words.  "  Come," 
she  said,  still  playing,  "give  me  two  sad  verses  and  two 
gay  ones." 

It  was  not  easy,  for  the  music  required  alternate  lines 
of  five  and  seven  syllables ;  but  the  poet  gave  his  mind 
to  the  task,  although  at  that  time  he  had  never  practised 
Avith  Father  Hermann.  When  the  musician  had  sung  a 
couplet,  she  went  back  to  the  ritornello,  while  the  improv- 
visatore  produced  the  succeeding  couplet.  He  composed 
in  this  way  as  many  as  were  wanted,  all  in  the  twofold 
mood  indicated  in  the  programme.  It  was  a  complete 
little  poem  in  the  form  of  a  plaint,  but  I  am  no  longer 
able  to  say  what  it  was  about.  Here  are  two  or  three 
of  the  couplets,  which  by  the  merest  chance  I  find  in 
the  depths  of  my  memory,  — 

"  I  will  carry  my  despair 

To  a  foreign  shore  : 
Italy,  the  ever  fair, 

I  will  see  once  more  ! 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  303 

Now  my  lady-love  is  gone 

From  my  longing  view, 
'Hither,'  cries  the  dulcet  tone 

Of  my  hostess  new. 

Listen  to  a  lover's  woe, 

Pity  all  my  pain  ! 
And,  O  bright-eyed  maid,  do  thou 

Fill  my  glass  again  !  " 

The  reason  why  I  remember  these  three  couplets  is 
that,  all  day  long,  the  ladies  whom  the  complaint  amused 
kept  singing  them  over  and  over,  so  that  the  whole  castle 
resounded  with  the  refrain  of  the  mazourka,  —  "What 
sorrow  in  the  world  !  What  pleasure  here  below !  "  I 
offer  them  to  the  reader  as  a  specimen  of  those  relics  in 
forgotten  drawers,  which  the  poet  of  the  "  December 
Night "  calls  the  "  debris  of  happier  days." 

Here  is  another  such  relic,  which  must  be  classed 
among  the  improvisations.  Alfred  de  Musset,  who  could 
sing  the  grace  and  beauty  even  of  a  staircase  at  Ver- 
sailles, was  naturally  yet  more  disposed  to  pay  homage 
to  these  qualities  when  he  met  them  in  a  woman.  One 
evening  there  came  to  the  godmother's  a  bewitching 
young  lady  who  brought  the  mistress  of  the  house  a 
little  present.  It  was  a  needle-case  of  black  shell  orna- 
mented with  silver.  Alfred  took  it  into  his  head  to  have 
this  box  himself.  It  was  a  mad  enterprise.  The  god- 
mother could  not  give  him  what  had  just  been  given 
her,  and  her  young  friend  declared  that  the  box  was  no 
longer  hers  to  give.  He  was  very  obstinate,  however, 
and  returned  to  the  charge  again  and  again,  but  with- 
out success ;  and  so  the  evening  wore  away  until  near 


304  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Mtisset. 

midnight.  In  the  dressing-room,  before  going  home,  the 
young  lady  wrapped  herself  up  in  a  white  capuchon,  mar- 
vellously becoming  to  her  rosy  complexion.  Alfred  said 
jestingly  that  she  looked  like  a  monk,  and  they  parted. 
Early  the  next  morning,  our  groom,  who  was  well  used  to 
such  errands,  was  traversing  the  streets  of  Paris,  carry- 
ing a  big  envelope  containing  the  following  six-line 
stanzas :  — 

"  Fairy  friar  in  orders  white, 
Lo,  a  beggar  starving  quite  ! 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose. 
Drop  a  trifle  ere  he  goes  : 
Freely  gives  who  gives  aright, 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 

Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
All  my  hopes  on  thee  repose  ! 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white, 
Hopes  deceive,  —  a  saying  trite : 
Dare  I  then  my  suit  disclose. 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose  ? 

Fairy  friar  in  orders  white, 
If  I  say  the  truth  outright. 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
I  invoke  a  world  of  foes  : 
How  should  I  their  wrath  invite, 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white  ? 

Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 

Evil  elves  their  rest  oppose. 

Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 

Who  have  bidden  thee,  Good-night : 

What's  the  reason  ?  Tell,  who  knows, 

Winsome  friar  with  tint^  of  rose  ! 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  305 

Fairy  friar  in  orders  white, 
When  thy  glance  on  me  did  light, 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
I  became  as  one  of  those,  — 
I  who  use  to  snore  at  night, 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 

Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
Men  propose,  but  gods  dispose  ; 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white, 
Proverbs  tell  the  truth  aright : 
Listen,  then,  what  I  propose. 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose. 

Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 

Give  and  take,  —  receive,  requite, — 

Winsome  friar  in  tints  of  rose, 

There's  a  bargain  one  may  close  : 

'Tis  our  very  case  I  cite. 

Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 

Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
Gavest  thou  the  gift  I  chose. 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white,  — 
Ebon  case  with  silver  bright, — 
I  should  pay  thee.  I  suppose, 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose. 

Fairy  friar  in  orders  white, 
I  should  pay  thee  mite  by  mite. 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
All  my  verse  and  all  my  prose 
Could  devise  of  most  polite. 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 

Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
Ne'er  a  virgin  flower  that  blows, 
Fairy  friar  in  orders  white. 
Won  such  praise  as  I'd  indite, 
20 


3o6  Biogi'aphy  of  Alfred  de  Mies  set. 

Tribute  stately  and  verbose, 
Winsome  friar  with  tints  of  rose. 

Naughty  friar  in  orders  white, 
Say  me  nay,  and  in  despite, 
Naughty  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
I'll  beset  thee  with  such  woes 
Thou  shalt  dearly  rue  thy  plight, 
Naughty  friar  in  orders  white. 

Ah,  my  friar  with  tints  of  rose, 
Holds  my  heart  her  secret  close  .'' 
Ah,  my  friar  in  orders  white, 
I  would  tell  it  if  I  might  !  — 
Nay  ;  but  why  the  tale  expose  ? 
Ah,  my  friar  with  tints  of  rose  !  " 

Although  young,  the  lady  had  already  received  a  good 
many  compliments,  but  seldom  of  this  quality.  This 
impromptu,  written  in  haste  between  bedtime  and  the 
hour  of  rising,  was  a  charming  surprise  for  her;  and  she 
replied  by  sending  the  author  a  little  sandal-wood  box, 
containing  not  needles,  but  a  pen,  which  afterwards 
achieved  much  writing,  both  in  prose  and  verse.  I  could 
not  tell  the  number  of  graceful  tributes  which  the  letter- 
post  or  the  early  groom  has  thus  distributed  over  Paris, 
—  how  many  flowers  that  lavish  Muse  scattered  by  the 
way-side.  As  for  the  long  talks,  now  light,  now  serious,  — 
but  always  poetical,  original,  and  full  of  curious  observa- 
tions,—  which  used  to  detain  us  in  the  godmother's  draw- 
ing-room till  the  small  hours,  they  must  be  allowed  to 
perish,  with  their  occasions  and  the  circumstances  which 
suggested  them,  for  lack  of  a  paid  stenographer  who  should 
give  his  days  and  nights  to  recording  them  in  a  folio. 

This  prodigality  was  not  confined  to  things  of  the 


BiograpJiy  of  Alfred  de  Miisset.  307 

mind.  It  was  rooted  in  the  very  nature  of  the  man. 
Rich  or  poor,  he  could  only  live  en  grand  seigneur.  If 
he  gave  his  last  five-franc  piece  to  relieve  some  case  of 
need,  he  did  it  as  freely  as  though  his  pocket  had  been- 
full.  At  Croisic,  on  the  sea-side,  he  saw  one  day,  before 
the  hut  of  a  poor  salt-maker,  a  ragged  little  girl  asleep 
in  the  sun  with  her  head  on  a  handful  of  straw.  He 
drew  near,  and  softly  put  a  loiiis  d'or  between  her  lips, 
and  then  stole  away  on  tiptoe,  exulting  in  the  trick,  and 
in  the  pleasure  which  awaited  the  child  when  she  should 
wake.  I  have  read  in  the  memoirs  of  Lord  Byron,  so 
sadly  mutilated  by  Thomas  Moore,  that  when  the  agents 
of  the  noble  lord  had  sold  his  estate  of  Newstead,  and 
wrote  to  him  to  ask  what  they  should  do  with  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  sale,  Byron  replied,  — "  You  need  not 
trouble  yourself  to  invest  the  money.  I  will  use  it  for 
my  pleasure."  An  enormous  amount  was  in  question, 
—  some  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling.  Alfred  de 
Musset  was  perfectly  capable  of  making  the  same  reply. 
He  only  needed  to  feel  the  touch  of  the  two  million 
and  a  half  francs.  In  default  of  the  domain  of  New- 
stead,  we  sold,  in  1846,  a  small  family  property  belong- 
ing to  our  father's  inheritance.  Alfred  received  one 
morning,  as  his  share  of  the  first  payment,  five  thousand 
francs  in  silver  money.  He  had  never  possessed  so 
large  a  sum  before.  I  advised  him  to  put  it  in  the 
funds;  but  he  replied,  looking  admiringly  at  the  little 
bags  ranged  along  his  table,  —  "What!  change  these 
beautiful  coins  into  scraps  of  paper !  I  am  not  such  a 
fool.  It  is  not  in  the  funds  that  I  will  put  this  money, 
but  in  my  own  closet." 


3o8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

He  actually  arranged  the  bags  in  a  cupboard ;  and  as 
though  distrustful  of  himself,  and  willing  to  offer  proof 
of  his  wisdom  and  prudence,  he  gave  me  the  key  to  keep, 
Saying  that  I  might  give  it  back  to  him  mornings,  but  not 
evenings,  in  the  perilous  hours  of  dissipation  and  play. 

I  agreed,  put  the  key  in  my  pocket,  and  departed.  In 
our  dining-room,  I  met  General  de  Berthois,  one  of  our 
oldest  friends,  and  went  with  him  to  the  drawing-room. 
I  had  hardly  sat  down  by  the  general's  side,  when  I  felt 
myself  pulled  by  the  sleeve  of  my  coat.  I  turned  round, 
and  saw  ray  brother,  who  was  close  behind  me,  and  wore 
a  grave  and  preoccupied  air.  He  stooped,  and  whis- 
pered in  my  ear,  —  "The  key!    Give  me  the  key!" 

I  gave  it  up,  and  never  saw  it  again.  That  fine  pre- 
cautionary arrangement  had  lasted  a  little  less  than 
a  minute.  The  five  thousand  francs  were  not  invested 
in  the  funds.  Alfred  de  Musset  never  held  in  his  hands 
a  receipt  for  rent  or  a  railway  bond.  On  this  head,  he 
would  take  no  advice.  Moreover,  he  was,  in  all  respects, 
the  most  independent  man  alive ;  governed  by  impres- 
sions, and  the  fancy  of  the  moment.  He  was  for  ever 
setting  out  with  the  intention  of  going  to  some  particular 
place,  and  changing  his  purpose  when  half-way  there. 
From  the  Quai  Voltaire,  where  he  lived  in  1840,  the 
distance  was  not  great,  by  way  of  the  Rue  des  Beaux 
Arts,  to  the  office  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes." 
One  evening  he  was  to  dine  there  with  some  of  his  asso- 
ciates, and  had  accepted  the  invitation  with  pleasure. 
As  he  went  downstairs,  he  asked  who  the  guests  were  to 
be,  and  whom  he  was  to  sit  next.  There  was  one 
person  whom  he  would  like  very  well  for  a  neighbor. 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  309 

Would  he  have  him?  Such  another  one,  he  said,  would 
bore  him.  Lerminier  would  perhaps  turn  the  conversa- 
tion upon  politics.  The  talk  would  be  all,  —  "  discus- 
sion of  the  address,"  and  "  attitude  of  the  ministry."  At 
this  notion,  he  took  fright.-  He  changed  his  course,  and 
dined  alone  at  the  Palais  Royal,  whence  he  sent  a 
messenger  with  a  note  of  apology- 
Engagements  of  any  kind  annoyed  him  ;  but  none 
alarmed  him  so  much  as  engagements  to  perform  a 
given  amount  of  work.  All  that  he  has  said  in  his 
story  of  the  "  Lost  Poet  "  he  felt  so  bitterly,  that  I  con- 
sider that  period  of  his  life  one  of  more  cruel  trial  and 
of  greater  peril  than  he  ever  encountered  at  any  other 
time.  And  yet,  the  poet  who  so  dreaded  the  lightest 
bond  allowed  himself  constantly  to  be  entangled  by 
enthusiasm,  by  weakness  in  the  presence  of  importu- 
nity, by  imprudence,  and  maladministration  of  his 
affairs.  He  gave  his  signature  only  too  many  times,  and 
often  to  people  less  obliging  than  the  manager  of  the 
"  Revue."  His  self-styled  friends  occasioned  him  more 
than  one  sleepless  night. 

All  characters  abound  in  contradictions.  When  Mus- 
set consented  to  have  a  housekeeper  to  manage  his 
bachelor  establishment,  he  told  her  that  he  should  not 
keep  her  three  months ;  but  she  stayed  with  him  as  long  as 
he  lived.  Scarcely  was  he  installed  in  his  rooms  on  the 
Rue  Mont  Thabor,  and  still  in  debt  for  his  furniture,  when 
there  was  offered  him  a  fine  copy  by  Carle  Vanloo  of  a 
Giorgione  in  the  Louvre,  — "  Le  Concert  Champ^tre." 
The  picture  was  not  dear,  and  the  opportunity  was 
precious.     He  took  it  on  a  four  months'  credit,  brought 


3IO  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

it  home  in  triumph,  and  hung  it  on  his  dining-room  wall, 
saying  to  his  housekeeper,  who  was  by  no  means  de- 
lighted with  the  acquisition,  —  "Put  my  plate  opposite 
that  picture,  and  take  one  dish  off  my  bill  of  fare.  I 
shall  always  like  my  dinner  >well  enough." 

The  Duchesse  de  Castries  twice  wished  him  to  marry. 
The  person  whom  she  selected  first  was  a  very  fine 
woman  ;  but  Alfred  was  then  much  too  young  and  showed 
little  zeal  in  the  matter.  The  second  parti  pleased  him 
immensely;  but  he  was  brave  enough  to  surmount  his 
inclinations,  and  to  raise  objections  which  were  found 
just  and  reasonable.  Once  again,  —  I  do  not  know  in 
what  year,  —  Chenevard  said  to  him  carelessly,  between 
two  games  of  chess,  — 

"  If,  by  chance,  you  should  want  a  wife,  come  to  me. 
I  can  point  one  out  who  will  suit  you." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Alfred.     "  Who  is  she  ? " 

"  I  have  lately,"  replied  Chenevard,  "  become  ac- 
quainted with  M.  Melesville.  This  morning  I  called 
there,  and  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room.  A  most 
charming  young  ^irl  invited  me  to  sit  down  until  her 
father  should  come.  I  had  never  seen  her  before,  and 
I  was  smitten  with  her  beauty  and  her  pleasing  and  in- 
telligent air.  She  is  a  brunette  with  large  black  eyes. 
Her  father  is  the  best  man  alive!  They  are  a  family  of 
intellect  and  taste.  It  occurred  to  me  at  once  that  she 
would  be  an  excellent  match  for  you,  and  I  resolved 
that  I  would  mention  it.  There  is  my  proposition.  You 
can  think  it  over." 

They  discussed  the  matter  as  they  sat,  and  to  such 
good  purpose  that  the  two  arrived  at  a  fixed  intention  of 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  M us  set.  3 1 1 

marriage.  Alfred  was  particularly  fond  of  large  black 
eyes  and  brunette  beauties.  He  had  had  but  little  inter- 
course with  M.  Melesville  since  the  days  of  our  stay  at 
Auteuil;  but  that  little  had  been  friendly  and  based 
upon  mutual  esteem.  He  remembered  having  seen  this 
young  girl  play  a  part  with  great  spirit  in  a  little  society 
comedy,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  full  of  talent  and 
perfectly  well  bred.  His  poet's  imagination  instantly 
took  fire.  Chenevard,  in  whom  he  had  confidence,  reit- 
erated that  M.  Melesville  was  the  best  and  simplest- 
hearted  man  in  the  world,  with  patriarchal  manners, 
who  owed  his  own  fortune  to  his  own  talent,  and  would 
be  sure  to  rate  talent  above  wealth.  One  would  like  to 
marry  just  for  the  sake  of  having  such  a  father-in-law. 
All  possible  advantages  seemed  to  be  united,  and  it  only 
remained  to  decide  what  steps  to  take.  Alfred,  already 
devoured  by  impatience,  sought  a  pretext  for  renewing 
his  acquaintance  with  M.  Melesville  and  calling  at  the 
house ;  since  he  would  hardly  be  believed  if  he  said  that 
he  was  in  love  with  the  young  lady  without  knowing  her, 
and  he  did  not  wish  to  plunge  like  a  notary  directly  into 
the  question  of  figures.  Chenevard  soon  found  the 
wished-for  excuse.  "  You  will  go,"  he  said,  "  to  M.  Me'les- 
ville,  and  propose  to  co-operate  with  him  about  a  play.  It 
will  not  be  hard  for  you  to  think  out  the  plot  of  a  comedy. 
Armed  with  this  plot,  you  will  introduce  yourself:  you 
will  work  with  the  father;  you  will  chat  with  the  daugh- 
ter. When  you  have  had  time  to  discover  her  wit  and  her 
graces,  you  will  appoint  me  your  ambassador.  I  shall  be 
the  bearer  of  proposals.  They  will  be  favorably  received, 
and  you  will  make  a  regular  comic-opera  marriage." 


312  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

Alfred  was  enchanted  with  the  project,  and  immedi- 
ately adopted  it.  The  subject  which  he  thought  of  for 
his  drama  was  the  Arabian  tale  of  the  magnanimous 
Noureddin,  which  he  proposed  to  weave  into  a  comic 
opera.  Mile.  Melesville's  name  was  Laure,  and  she 
had  an  album  of  drawings.  •  Chenevard,  who  also  was 
full  of  dreams  about  the  projected  marriage,  thought  he 
would  offer  the  maiden  a  pencil-sketch.  He  took  his 
subject  from  Petrarch's  sonnets,  and  represented  the 
first  meeting  between  the  great  poet  and  Laura  de  Noves, 
giving  the  features  of  Petrarch  and  Laura  some  resem- 
blance to  those  of  Alfred  de  Musset  and  Mile,  de  Meles- 
ville.  When  the  sketch  was  finished,  he  employed  the 
suitor  to  add  to  it  a  French  translation  of  the  four  lines 
which  had  suggested  its  subject.  Alfred,  accordingly, 
wrote  underneath  the  drawing  the  following  quatrain 
imitated  from  the  twelfth  sonnet  of  Petrarch,  — 

"  Bdnis  soient  le  moment,  et  I'heure,  at  la  journ^e, 
Et  le  temps  et  les  lieux,  et  le  mois  de  I'annde, 
Et  la  place  ch^rie  ou  dans  men  triste  ccEur 
Pdndtra  de  ses  yeux  la  charmante  douceur  !  "  ^ 

This  done,  Chenevard  proceeded  to  M.  Melesville's 
in  the  character  of  a  scout,  to  reconnoitre  the  ground, 
and  offer  his  drawing  enriched  by  an  autograph.  At  the 
first  mention  of  the  young  girl's  name,  he  was  informed 
that  she  was  promised  to  M.  Vander  Vleet,  and  that  the 
marriage  would  soon  take  place.  Thus  ended  the  little 
intrigue.      Alfred  did  not  renounce  it  without  regret. 

1  "  Blessed  be  the  moment,  the  hour,  the  day,  the  season,  the  place,  the 
month  of  the  year,  and  the  beloved  spot  where  the  charming  sweetness  of 
her  eyes  penetrated  my  sorrowful  heart." 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  313 

Serious  folk  may  smile  at  so  very  slight  an  outline  of  a 
romance ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  if  the  scheme 
had  been  successful,  the  poet  might  have  been  living 
now.  Once  brought  under  the  omnipotent  influence  of 
a  beautiful  and  clever  woman  whom  he  loved,  and  who 
was  worthy  of  his  love,  Alfred  would  have  been  the 
truest,  happiest,  and  most  correct  of  husbands.  He  had 
a  reverence  for  plighted  faith,  and  his  independent  spirit 
could  have  been  made  perfectly  to  conform  to  duties  in 
whose  performance  lay  the  security  for  his  happiness.  A 
congenial  marriage  would  have  saved  him. 

Years  and  experience  had  no  power  to  chill  the  heart 
of  Alfred  de  Musset.  On  the  contrary,  his  susceptibili- 
ties continued  to  grow  keener  as  long  as  he  lived.  He 
was  a  prey  to  agitations,  anxieties,  and  perpetual  emo- 
tion. He  felt  an  incessant  need  of  free  and  confidential 
communication,  either  with  his  brother  or  his  uncle 
Desherbiers.  He  detained  us  by  his  fireside,  and  we 
could  no  more  resolve  to  tear  ourselves  away  than  he 
could  suffer  us  to  go.  When  he  was  in  one  of  his 
feverish  moods,  one  had  to  enter  into  all  his  feelings, 
and  becom.e  dubious,  dejected,  wrathful,  and  tender  by 
turns.  This  violent  spiritual  exercise,  these  contradic- 
tory emotions  of  a  soul  singularly  sensitive  and  mobile, 
were  sometimes  fatiguing  to  those  about  him  ;  but  there 
blended  with  such  fatigue  an  indescribable  charm.  Pas- 
sion and  exaggeration  are  contagious.  We  were  carried 
away  in  spite  of  ourselves,  —  tormented,  exalted!  And 
we  came  back  again  and  again,  as  to  an  indulgence 
from  which  we  could  not  refrain,  to  be  tormented  and 
exalted  anew.      Who  will  give  me  back  that  agitated 


314  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

life,  —  those  hours  of  delicious  anguish  ?     Ah,  well !  —  _ 
for  forty  years  at  least,  I  revelled  in  the  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  that  great  mind,  and  the  riches  of  that  sincere 
affection. 

It  is  said  that  there  are  geniuses  who  do  not  know 
that  they  are  such.  I  do  not  believe  it.  Correggio  him- 
self, simple-hearted  as  he  was,  did  not  long  remain  in 
that  state  of  ignorance.  Alfred  de  Musset,  the  most 
modest  of  poets,  knew  better  than  any  one  else  the 
strength  and  weakness  of  each  of  his  own  works,  and 
he  judged  them  as  soundly  as  if  they  had  been  another's. 
Those  of  his  writings  which  he  rated  highest  are  the 
second  volume  of  poems,  the  "  Fils  du  Titien,"  "  Loren- 
zaccio,"  and  "  Carmoisine." 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that,  in  France,  poetical  gifts  can- 
not be  a  source  of  fortune.  The  "  Caprice  "  alone  was 
worth  more  to  the  author  in  money  than  all  his  other 
works  put  together.  Stendhal,  who  was  very  fond  of 
Alfred  de  Musset,  amused  himself  one  day  with  com- 
puting how  much  Alfred's  poetry  brought  him  by  the 
line.  He  took  the  number  of  the  "  Revue  "  which  con- 
tained "  Rolla,"  and  the  result  of  their  calculations  was 
the  modest  sum  of  sixty  centimes.  Stendhal  then  opened 
the  poems  of  Lord  Byron,  and  taking  for  a  point  of 
comparison  "Tasso's  Lament,"  for  which  Mr.  Murray 
payed  three  hundred  guineas,  he  found  that  the  English 
publisher  had  given  his  author  more  than  a  guinea  and 
a  half  a  line.  Stendhal  exclaimed  upon  the  difference  as 
scandalous  and  disgraceful  to  France. 

"But,  before  you  fly  into  a  rage,"  said  Alfred,  "you 
had  better  consider  whether  there  is  not  a  correspond- 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  M its  set.  315 

ing  difference  in  the  quality  of  Lord  Byron's  verses  and 
mine.     Perhaps  they  paid  me  enough." 

"  I  will  never  allow  that,"  replied  Stendhal. 

If  Lord  Byron,  with  his  well-known  character,  had  not 
been  a  peer  of  England ;  but  if,  instead,  he  had  been  no 
richer  than  the  French  poet,  and  had  received  but  five 
hundred  francs  for  his  poems  where  he  did  receive  five 
thousand,  —  life  would  have  been  impossible  to  him  upon 
such  conditions. 

As  he  said  himself  in  his  lines  to  Mme.  Ristori, 
Alfred  de  Musset  had  a  heart  ever  prompt  to  answer 
the  appeal  of  genius.  We  know  the  immortal  homage 
which  he  paid  to  M.  de  Lamartine.  He  also  admired 
Beranger,  but  could  not  understand  why  a  gifted  poet 
should  voluntarily  restrict  himself  to  the  narrow  limits 
of  the  song.  He  blamed  him  for  having  weighted 
himself  with  the  often  painful  shackles  of  a  refrain,  and 
for  having  dragged  about  his  whole  life  long  the  ball  of 
the  faridondaine}  But  he  was  not  one  of  those  who 
have  excused  themselves  from  doing  justice  to  the  noble 
character  of  Beranger  by  calling  his  disinterestedness 
coquetry. 

It  was  not  by  accident  that  the  author  of  the  "  Pens^es 
de  Raphael  "  spoke  of  Shakspeare  and  Racine  meet- 
ing upon  the  table.  He  professed  an  equal  admiration 
for  these  two  so  diverse  geniuses.  In  the  fervor  of 
youth,  he  preferred  the  former ;  but  ripe  reflection 
taught  him  the  full  value  of  the  second.  When  he  found 
in   Racine  a  strong  and  impassioned  expression,  he  ex- 

1  Say  the  "ding-dong  bell;"  any  merely  sonorous  and  unmeaning 
burden.  —  Tr. 


3i6  BiograpJiy  of  Alfred  de  Mils  set. 

claimed  that  it  was  as  fine  as  Shakspeare ;  and  if  he 
found,  in  the  English  poet,  a  great  thought  clothed  in  a 
pure  and  irreproachable  form,  he  compared  it  to  the 
poetry  of  Racine.  One  of  the  things  which  he  liked  best 
was  a  certain  exclamation  of  Phedra's,  which  illustrates 
by  its  very  grotesqueness  the  bewilderment  of  one  sick 
at  heart,  — 

"  Ariane,  ma  soeur  !  de  quel  amour  blessde, 

Vous  mourutes  aux  bords  ou  vous  futes  laissde?"  ^ 

When  Rachel  breathed  out  that  strange  and  unlooked- 
for  lament,  Alfred  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  pale  with 
emotion. 

I  will  not  say  that  naturalness  was  the  quality  which 
charmed  him  most :  but,  rather,  that  it  was  for  him  an 
indispensable  quality  ;  and  if  its  presence  could  not  save 
a  book  from  being  mediocre,  or  even  bad,  no  conceiv- 
able beauty  could  atone  for  its  absence.  For  this  rea- 
son the  letters  of  Mme.  de  Sevigne  did  not  please  him. 
He  detected  in  them  at  times  a  something  artificial  and 
afifected,  —  a  suspicion  that  they  would  be  shown  to  other 
persons  beside  her  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 

The  abuse  of  adjectives,  upon  which  he  had  animad- 
verted so  comically  in  his  letters  from  Ferte  sous  Jouarre, 
continued  to  be  one  of  his  pet  antipathies.  One  day  in 
1833,  a  beautiful  romance  —  of  which  all  the  world  was 
talking,  and  which  contained  a  new  revelation  of  genius  — 
fell  into  his  hands  before  he  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  author.     He  enjoyed  the  book,  but  found  things 

1  "  O  !  my  sister  Ariadne,  by  what  love  wounded  didst  thou  die  on  the 
shore  where  thou  wast  abandoned"?  " 


Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset.  317 

in  it  to  criticise.  Struck  with  its  abuse  of  adjectives,  he 
took  a  pencil  and  erased  as  he  read,  all  the  useless 
epithets,  parasitic  clauses,  and  other  superfluities.  The 
first  chapter  of  the  novel  thus  chastened  and  corrected, 
is  infinitely  more  natural  and  pleasanter  to  read  than 
the  original,  and  the  reading  of  it  conveys  an  excellent 
lesson.* 

In  none  of  his  works  either  in  prose  or  verse,  not 
even  in  his  critical  articles,  did  Alfred  de  Musset  ever 
employ  the  first  person  plural.  This  manner  of  speak- 
ing, which  is  supposed  to  be  modest,  seemed  to  him,  on 
the  contrary,  pretentious.  Except  in  newspapers,  where 
the  writer  who  wields  the  pen  may  be  considered  as  ex- 
pressing the  views  of  the  other  editors  along  with  his 
own,  he  never  liked  any  one  to  say  we  in  place  of  I,  and 
when  he  encountered  that  hackneyed  idiom,  he  would 
say  laughingly,  —  "I  did  not  know  before  that  the  author 
was  king  of  France  and  Navarre." 

The  poet  of  *'  Namouna,"  and  the  "  Spanish  Tales," 
often  smiled  at  the  futile  attempts  of  his  copyists,  for 
never  was  poetry  more  imitated  than  his.  "  The  rash 
creatures  do  not  know,"  he  used  to  say,  "  how  much 
good-sense  one  needs  in  order  to  dispense  with  common- 
sense.  But  good-sense,  tact,  wit,  and  imagination  are 
all  in  vain,  if  one  have  not  especially  and  above  all  a 
great  deal  of  heart.  Fancy  is  the  most  perilous  of  all 
marks  of  talent.  The  ablest  are  led  astray  by  it  like 
school-boys,  if  they  make  it  a  matter  of  the  head  alone. 
Those  who  feel  truly  and  keenly  may  give  themselves 
up  to  the  dangerous  delight  of  letting  their  thought  run 

1  I  still  possess  this  curious  copy  of  "  Indiana."  —  P.  M. 


3i8  Biography  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 

wild,  knowing  that  the  heart  will  follow  it  step  by  step. 
But  people  who  lack  heart  are  invariably  swamped  by 
their  fancy,  if  they  have  any.  Once  launched  on  their 
voyage,  they  can  anchor  to  nothing,  because  they  have 
no  fixed  point  in  their  own  souls." 

Up  to  his  latest  day,  Alfred  de  Musset  read  all  that 
appeared,  and  wanted  to  know  and  appreciate  all.  He 
paused,  well  pleased,  over  a  new  idea,  however  trivial. 
His  memory  retained  a  pleasing  verse,  a  passage  contain- 
ing a  just  sentiment,  an  ingenious  reflection,  or  an  origi- 
nal expression  ;  and,  caring  little  whether  the  author  had 
a  reputation  or  no,  he  quoted  freely  what  struck  him  as 
unusual.  He  suspected  books  made  out  of  other  books, 
and  preferred  himself  to  apply  at  the  original  sources  of 
information  rather  than  trust  to  interpretations. 

But  I  see  that  I  am  being  carried  away  beyond  the 
proper  limits  of  my  subject.  If  I  were  to  collect  the 
literary  judgments  and  opinions  of  Alfred  de  Musset 
on  the  men  and  things  of  this  and  previous  ages,  I 
should  have  to  make  another  book.  It  is  time  to  pause, 
in  spite  of  the  recollections  which  come  crowding  into 
my  mind.  May  it  but  seem  to  the  passionate  admirers 
of  the  poet  that  I  have  attained  the  end  proposed,  — 
that  of  making  the  man  known.  To  them  alone  is  this 
notice  dedicated.  I  have  written  with  no  other  purpose 
than  the  desire  to  be  exact,  with  no  guide  save  my  re- 
grets, with  wo  fixed  point  in  my  soul  save  my  love  for  the 
brother  whose  untimely  death  has  left  a  void  in  my  life 
which  nothing  can  fill. 

THE   END. 


1  P,  o  r  Q 

.x^  <0  <i^  -J  W 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  San  Diego 


MAR  23  1974 


DATE  DUE 


MAR  2 


CI  39 


UCSD  Libt, 


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jlONAL  UBRARY  FACILITY 


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